Walk Away
by Uilleand
Summary: Ok...it's done. Again, all credit for Valen and Cania goes to Bioware. Many, many blessings to Rhyagelle for betareading and keeping me motivated! Please, please read and review. I'd really appreciate some feedback!
1. Chapter 1

_I .. I love you, my lady._

If she didn't blink, the tears would never fall. Even with her gaze fixed on the flickering blaze, the wind took her breath away and froze the telltale drops before they could form.

He slept, just out of reach of her fingertips – had she thought to reach out. She did not.

The firelight glistened on his hair, warming his face. Just a shade lighter than her own, it shone like cherry honey. Her own darkened from blood to black, falling over her eyes as she finally tore her gaze away.

_I'm very sorry. I can not be what you need. _

The cold shattered through Brin's slender frame. She was hanging by such a fragile thread. Only her will and the magic that bubbled through her veins kept her moving forward. That, and the solid, armoured form striding in front of her. She watched the sway of his tail, timed her steps to his. If he kept moving, she'd keep moving.

If she stumbled, he caught her before she could fall – always there, always her shelter.

_Do you think I'm doing this for you?? Do you think I have a choice?? Well, dammit, you're stuck here with me, just like I'm stuck here. Don't make this any harder than it has to be!_

She curled her lip at his back. She could make it through this without his warmth, if not his strength. They were so close. Close to freedom. Close to free will. Clutching the ragged edges of her cloak tighter around her shoulders, she lowered her head and allowed herself to be hypnotized by the crunch of his footsteps.


	2. Chapter 2

"Open your eyes, my lady."

He could lift her without any exertion. Her eyes flew open, as the heat from his body seared through her. Blinking, she cleared her mind and stared at the ice that crusted his hair and crystals that clung to his eyelashes. He watched as her eyes focused. As soon as her gaze sharpened, he placed her back on her feet.

"There's something ahead – a door, I think. It might be a chance to get out of the wind, if not the cold."

She nodded, whispering a spell, preparing for whatever might me on the other side of the icy stone. But some things are impossible to prepare for.

The spell drifted away, dead on her lips. But her mouth curved into a slow, sly smile.

"My old friend. I would not have thought to find you here, so far from the arms of your lord."

Just as startled, the dwarf's smooth face was placid, but Brin could see the humour in his eyes.

"And I should have expected you, I suppose," chuckled Grimgnaw. "Blood follows you, half-elf, like a hound follows the fox."

Brin's smile tightened into a mask. "Yes, yes, you were always correct about that. I didn't give you enough credit when you were by my side, did I?"

"I would not choose to kill you, here," she said, softly. "Truly, I would not."

"Ah, Brin. Death comes for us all – you or I – we will be welcome."

Someone else might have taken the slow drift of her eyelashes and slump of her shoulders as defeat, but the dwarf knew her well. He was only slightly surprised by the speed of her attack and the electricity that flew from her hands and through his skin.

Back to back with Valen, she let him deal with the minotaur. She dealt with the spellcasters quickly, spitting fire and acid, barely a second thought as they fell. She felt his back at her shoulders, a solid wall of protection as she faced off against her old friend, her companion.

"You always were too good at what you do." Her smile was ghastly, as she gasped for breath.

"Not nearly as gifted as you, my dear. You could have been a master at my lord's side."

She felt Valen's body jerk behind her as another bolt slammed into his side. He switched his grip on his flail and swung again.

Brin dodged another blast from Grimgnaw's fists and laid a gentle hand on his arm. He gasped as his energy flowed into her fingers. She would have laughed at the shock she saw on his face, but something was wrong. What was wrong?

The smooth motion behind her faltered. The sway of Valen's protective dance shook and shattered. She felt him slide down her back. She turned and saw him fall, riddled with bolts and battered by the minotaur's giant axe. She saw him smile through the blood and sigh.

Brin spun again to face the threat of the one she had once called friend. It could have been the blast of magic or the power of her scream that drove his body back against the wall of the cave. The fury whirled around her like a twister wind. A giant hand grasped the minotaur and hurled him to the ceiling, but the blood on his muzzle was already his last.

Snarling, tasting her own blood, she stalked the last, the parasite, the source of the stinging bolts that pierced her shoulder, her thigh, skinned her cheek. Her last spell flew from her lips, as she fell to one knee. Grasping the hilt of her dagger, she staggered forward, rejoicing in the terror she saw in the immobilized rogue's eyes. Time slowed as her blade slid under the woman's jaw and up. Brin gave the inert form a vicious kick – and then another and another – as it slumped in death.

Her body propelled by adrenaline and rage, she vaulted back over the minotaur's shattered body and landed, straddled across Valen's chest. She reached down and grabbed a hank of his wine-dark hair, sticky with his blood.

"Get up! Damn you! Get up!!" She slammed her small fist into his chest, into his face. She grabbed another fistful of hair and pulled his forehead to hers. "GET UP!!! You are mine to command!!"

Her breath sobbing in her throat, she grabbed the slender wand of bone and crystal. She drew its cold surface over his face and pressed it to his heart. Her high-pitched gasps, in time with her slamming heartbeat, were only sound in the echo of her stone shelter. Even that sound stilled as she watched the pool of blood beneath them shudder and begin to seep backwards, shrinking.

Her shoulders heaving, she slammed her forehead down on his dragon scale-plated chest. She rocked, one hand still entangled in his hair, the other a fist over his heart, the wand shattered into dust. She banged her head down again, ignoring the dull thunk of bone against armour. She watched, mesmerized as her breath fogged against the shining buckles and scales – in and out, the gleam reflecting her parted lips between gasps.

Only the smallest of sounds – a choke, a whimper – escaped those lips when she felt his hand on the back of her head. Her arms shaking with rage – only rage, she knew – she heaved herself up. He let his hand drop from her hair, to rest at his side, as his blue eyes met her glare.

She clutched his cloak with one hand and slapped him with the other. Her face rigid, her eyes full of fury, she kissed him. She tasted his blood and her own. She felt his hands, once more in her hair. Her own hands grabbed at his cloak, at his hair, as she assaulted his mouth. Panting, she slapped him again.

"If you die again, I'll leave you here for the storm crows," she growled.

She heard "Yes, my lady," even as she spiralled into the darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

Shaking, Valen stared down at the unconscious form in his lap. She felt like sandstone, if he clutched too hard she would crumble between his fingers.

Sticky, dried blood seeped through his hands and he remembered the taste of her kiss.

Desperately, he tried to calm his mind. He couldn't remember. What happened? He shook his head and looked around, ignoring the explosions behind his eyes. As he began to focus, he was left dumbfounded by the scene of chaos around him.

He allowed his hands a moment to trail over her face, noting the thin line of blood where the crossbow's quarrel had grazed her. The site jogged his memory and, gasping, he noted the other bolts embedded in her skin. Cursing himself, cursing her, cursing every name he could think of, he laid her down and checked the breath that still drifted from her lips.

Fire. He held her to him as he rose on legs that felt like spider's thread. What was wrong with him? What had she said?

_If you die again …_

He halted and a great shudder ran through his spine. If he died again … Running his tongue over his lips, he stared down at her, and moved them both to the fire already crackling in the corner.

His giant hands were silk-gentle on her flesh as he removed the offending bolts and cleaned the blood away. She moaned and twitched, feverish. His own inner fire flared in his eyes – so much blood. They're lucky she didn't let him die. He would have hunted them through all of the hells to make them pay for this. He had never heard such pain in her voice. It had stunned him.

_I would not choose to kill you, here …_

He'd never seen her flinch away from death before.

She had marched through the Underdark, taking on all comers. She had laughed and sizzled and danced with the fire she commanded. She had charged through that bloody temple, calling on the heavens even in that unholy place. They had walked into the lair of the mind-flayers, unafraid, like children at a moon festival.

He first began to understand that he loved her, watching her in the strange avian city. Sweat beading from her hair, face pale and sallow, she faced sickness, infirmity, without fear. She had taken the mad priest's challenges one-by-one, even has Valen begged her to stop. Grinning through cracked lips, she called on her power, even through her wracked body, and prevailed.

He knew, then, that the Seer had been right all along. With her at their side, they could not lose. He rejoiced.

He looked now, at her crumpled form in his lap and could not understand. How had they lost? How had they lost her?

She stirred, her blood-red hair plastered to her face. She fought, even in the darkness. Her eyes snapped open – storm grey. He blinked into her gaze once. He put her on the ground before she could ask him to do so.

He wished he had kissed her first.


	4. Chapter 4

She wanted to hit him again. She wanted to pound him until he looked at her with the cool hatred and disdain she deserved.

She wanted him to hit her.

She wanted him to sleep, so she could bury herself in despair.

But he would not, so she stared – unblinking – at the fire, her hands clenching and unclenching before her. Her body shook with the need to release the violence building inside her, and she could feel him watching. She could feel him _understanding, _damn him!

He looked hollow. His pale face had a sickly cast and his eyes were pools of blue shadow, haunted.

Those eyes held even less distrust now then they had at first. In the beginning she hadn't been able to escape the suspicion that had followed her through the corridors of the Underdark. It had made her laugh, then. _Laugh!_ She had teased him for his watchfulness, prodded his dignity. She quizzed him on his past, his heritage – his tail! She admired his resolve, his courage, his warrior's body, and she let him know, just to see him blush. She had watched him smile more, laugh … sing, even, much to the shock of their companion.

In the firelight, a tiny smile twitched at the corner of her lip, remembering the bawdy sailor's song he taught her. She didn't even notice the slight widening of those blue eyes as he noticed.

_Fly the mainsail and tie her up.  
__She's a ship in the night  
__So empty your cup …_

She began to find excuses to touch him – waiting for a helping hand as they crossed the stony landscape, loving the feel of his fingers on her waist. She'd tease and tug his hair, so close in shade to her own. He'd retaliate by slinging her over her shoulder while she laughed like a child.

_She leaves the sailors sad and sore  
__Alone on the dock  
__An' wanting more._

It was a catchy tune. She'd been singing gleefully as they stomped though the beholders' caverns. He had grimaced and covered his ears, laughing.

_Unless you carry a captain's sword  
__She'll ne'er show a lad  
__Where the booty's stored. _

When they'd rested in that dark place, he'd pulled her onto his lap after she demanded to see the captain's sword. She loved to see him smile. The more she learned of him, the more she understood what a rare gift his shy grin was. She'd drifted off there, asleep in his arms, secure in that heat.

_So sail away, me ladies true.  
__She's nae fer me  
__And she's nae fer you._

"I would speak with you ..."

She knew what he wanted to say and she smiled at him. "Later, Valen. We're almost done here. I would love time alone with you."

He smiled back and touched her hair. "I am yours to command."

She had been singing, even as she climbed down behind them, even as she saw them fall.

The song died on her lips as her magic died in her blood.


	5. Chapter 5

She sprang to her feet, unable to contain the sizzling energy that drove her from her memories. That ghost of a smile was long gone, enveloped by the false sense of purpose that seemed to drive her. He picked up his pack, would have shouldered hers as well, but she demanded it from him in cool, imperial tones.

What faced them behind the door surprised even him, who had spent so much of his life in the planes. Heat spat up from the lava that flowed between them and … well … them and anything else. He watched her brow furrow as her mind began to tackle the problem ahead of them. She walked over a strange, rusted lever that sat at the brink of the bubbling sea of lava. She gestured to him and he approached her. To his shock, she calmly wrapped her arms around him and pulled the lever.

In a flash of crimson light they materialized on a stone platform in the centre of the molten sea. He stood, for a moment, frozen by the desire to hold her to him. He looked down on her and when she peered up, he knew she could see the demon behind his eyes. She nodded solemnly, but didn't release her grip. He took a deep, shuddering breath … and another … choking on his desire. He reached for the next lever.

Valen discovered a whole new Hell over that time. Frustrated and confused by the puzzle laid out before them, they burst from platform to platform, over the burbling molten rock. The heat that battered them from below was nothing – _nothing_ – compared to the fire that was building inside of him. For hours, her body was pressed to his – soft yet unyielding – driving him to madness. His heart pounded with the rhythm of the demon's demands

She was growing angry at her own failure. Finally, after yet another misstep, she threw her pack to the ground with a growl. She kicked it across the large platform and whirled on him. In the heat, she had discarded her cloak on the floor, her skirts were hiked up to leave her legs bare and sweat dripped in her eyes and down her throat.

He turned away before the demon could grab him by the throat.

"Don't LOOK at me like that," she raged at him. "Do you think I _want_ to be stuck here?"

She continued on desperately, trying to deny how much, in fact, that very idea appealed. The river of foul language that poured from her would have made a sailor proud, he thought.

And he couldn't help it. Maybe because her vocabulary reminded him of a certain sea shanty, maybe because she'd somehow smeared dust and dirt from the bridge of her nose to hear slightly pointed ear … or maybe just because he needed to, so very badly … he smiled.

Her eyes widened at the evidence of his mockery, and narrowed viciously.

This time the barest whisper of a chuckle escaped past his lips. When her jaw fell, stuck between disbelief and the next stream of insults, he planted a mailed hand over his mouth to stop the burst of laughter that was fighting to come out. She took one stride forward and grabbed his hand away from his mouth, her other fist clenched and a snarl on her lips. She stopped in her tracks, staring at the full grin on his face and the sparkles of laughter that danced in his eyes.

She froze, as if turned to stone, her hand on his wrist, her face turned up to his. He could measure time by his pulse that beat against her fingers. Her mouth was open, paused in the middle of a curse, but her tongue darted out and over her lips as she stared into his face. His grin faded and he tilted his head, as if listening for the words she wasn't speaking.

For the first time since he set foot in this cursed plane, she stared unflinchingly into his eyes. The smile that flashed over her features blinded him. Her laugh of triumph nearly stopped his heart.

"Blue!" was all he heard before she darted off, to rummage through her packs again.

In a daze, he followed her instructions, launching from platform to platform, while she clung to him. She hopped over the slick stones, pulling levers until blue light danced throughout the chambers. Back on the largest rocky dais, he let go of her unwillingly, but she ran to the final lever and pulled.

Lightening blasted through the room and through the door and she flashed him a broad grin that took his breath away. She danced with joy and leapt into his arms, eyes shining with accomplishment.

Even without the demon, he thought, this would be too much.

With a snarl, he pulled her to him and buried his mouth in her neck. He tasted her sweat and smelled her blood. Every moment of uncertainty he'd endured in the lifetimes he'd walked the ice with her snapped through as he lifted her up and pressed her to him. His teeth grazed her throat, her chin, her cheek. Her hands gripped his hair and, shockingly, his horns. She pulled herself to his mouth and her legs wrapped around his waist. He couldn't tell if the terrible growl came from his lips or hers.

Her tongue danced across his lips, her teeth pulled at his skin. The demon could hear her heart thundering, craved her blood, demanded her flesh. The rage and betrayal he'd sublimated, fed the beast's strength and he could not deny it. He pushed her body up against an outcropping on the wall and held her there, effortlessly, with one hand. His other hand wrapped up in the red hair that brushed her shoulders and pulled her head back – her neck almost to the snapping point.

His mouth rested on the pulse of her throat, his breath hissing through his teeth. He paused. The demon wanted to savour her fear. But, although her heart pounded, there was none. Instead, Valen felt her gentle touch in his hair, sweeping across his brow and down over his cheek – memorizing the shape of his face – as if it might be the last thing she knew.

With a scream, he threw her across the platform. She slid across the slimy stone, halting only a breath from the roiling lava. Another scream and he pounded his hand into the solid rock wall, chipping stone and dust into the air. A two-fisted blow shook the entire cavern as he hammered the beast back down. Head down, fiery hair draped over his eyes, he panted and snarled – fighting the demon, fighting himself. With a rattle of armour, he fell to his knees and – finally – dared to look for her.


	6. Chapter 6

Brin considered herself lucky as she pushed herself up on arms that would not stop shaking. She permitted herself a weary sigh, no chance of it being heard over the pounding of his fists on stone.

With the last of her strength, she pushed herself over so she stared up at the immense vaulted ceiling of the cavern. Her breath still came in choked gasps – from the impact of the stone floor, she told herself, nothing else.

If only … if only it had ended here. She calculated what it would take to push him over the edge. Not much, she realized, and it would become easier with each day they spent here. She had only seen the full force of the demon once before, but she knew what it could do – what it could do to her.

_So fill up your glasses and leave 'er behind  
__The sea's your true love  
__And she is unkind._

She'd been singing as they descended into the pit beneath the beholders' headquarters. It was on the tip of her lips to ask Valen why any sailor would want a lover who was unkind, anyway. She wanted to tease him, to say if that was what he wanted, she would oblige. But the joke was ripped from her mind as the air whooshed from her lungs. The moment her feet touched the ground, she knew something was horribly wrong.

The magic that had wrapped around her mind since the day she could speak was gone. She could no longer remember the words, the chants, the motions that had driven her every step since then. She felt hollow – a banyan tree, with the centre ripped out. It drove the breath out of her.

She drew in a breath to tell them she had to leave, that whatever was down here wasn't worth it. Her words stilled on her tongue as she realized her companions were fighting for their lives. Hampered and stunned as she was by the loss of every enchantment, they were unprepared for the spiders that had been lying in wait.

Nathyrra went down first. Spider venom dripped from two wounds on her arms. She dropped her swords as her fingers became numb. Brin can still see the look of comprehension and terror that her friend sent up at her. Still perched on the huge boulder by the exit, Bin screamed at them to leave, to follow her up and out of that pit. Nodding, Valen scooped the dark elf's slight form under one arm and reached up to Brin for a hand up.

She grabbed at his hand, caught the tips of his fingers and pulled, even as the sword spider descended on him. The fangs caught the back of his neck, where his armour and helm met. His eyes opened wide, and she watched in horror as his grip on her hand loosened and he slid back to the floor. She leaped down from her sanctuary and landed in front of him, her staff swinging wildly. Drained of all enchantment and power, it was no more useful than a housewife's broom.

Backing up, her friends behind her, her mind still couldn't comprehend that there was no power for her to call on, no fire, no acid, no ice. Sticky webbing wrapped itself around her feet and she was helpless before these creatures that she had, before, killed without a second thought. She screamed again, waving the staff, but the spider waited patiently, knowing she wasn't going anywhere.

Valen's head snapped up at the sound of her scream. The demon had full control; he stood and brought his gigantic flail down on the spider's body. Covered in ichor and his own blood, Valen spun and smashed, scattering arachnid bodies and legs with each swing. Each tortured breath was a growl, as he protected her with his own body. When there was nothing left but slime and gore, he turned to her and smiled, once, before falling where he stood.

She raged and fought against the gooey webbing. It seemed like an eternity before she managed to free herself enough to reach out to him. Breath still parted his lips, but his skin was clammy and angry red streaks crawled onto his face from the wounds on his neck. She shook him once, twice. She begged him and Nathyrra with tears pouring down her face. She dug through her packs, but nothing – not potions, not scrolls, not wands, not her healing herbs – nothing had any effect on that terrible creeping poison.

She gazed bleakly at the entrance above her, a matter of four steps and all the power of the cosmos would be at her fingertips – and none of it any good for her friends in this pit. She sat, listening to the laboured breath of her friends, staring into the darkness before her. There was a chance that, somewhere in the gloom, was an artefact that could help them. But she was alone. She was powerless. She looked down at Valen's face, tortured.

She stood up and placed her pack under his head, smoothing his hair back. She managed to place Nathyrra's head on his lap before she set off into the dark.

She lit no torch. Discovery meant death. For once blessing her heritage, she stepped quietly through the stones and webs, her eyes barely piercing the murk. When finally there was no light to be had and even her elfin vision failed, she guided herself with one hand on the wall.

Even afterwards, she had no idea how long she'd wandered those caverns. She lost count of the dead-ends and wrong turns. She stumbled and scraped skin off on the rocky floors. She froze at the slightest noise, standing stock still and trembling for time unending, screams stuck in her throat. She imagined spiders and devils, creatures from every fell plane tracking her through the darkness until she barely dared to breathe.

The darkness lasted forever.

She opened her eyes to the orange glow of the lava that bubbled and belched around them and the ceiling far above. Brin arched her neck to peer at the corner Valen had last been in.

He was still there. Upside-down from her vantage point, he sat with his back to the wall, his arms resting on his knees. His face was frozen in a mask of agony and horror as he waited to see if she would move. When her eyes opened, he gasped in a great sob and buried his head in his hands.

She realized that if she had never moved again, neither would he. She drew her own hand across her face, wiping away the sweat – no tears, just sweat.

No, she would not tempt the demon again. She couldn't lay that burden on his shoulders as well. She would not be that cruel.

With a groan through clenched teeth, she heaved herself to her feet. Grimacing at the way her bones seemed to grind together she stumbled over to her pack and cloak and gathered them up. She approached Valen and waited until he looked up at her. Wordlessly, she extended her hand and waited again until he placed his own it, covering it completely. She helped him to his feet and they continued on.


	7. Chapter 7

They fell into a routine that was, at the same time, both comfortable and uneasy. They walked, rested and fought side-by-side. They worked well together, but rarely spoke and always, it seemed, one was carefully watching the other.

At times it almost felt like their first days together, thought Valen, each trying to find the measure of the other. He had distrusted her. He told her so. She had just grinned, like she was off on some mad adventure, but he could sense her curiosity when she looked at him. She liked to fluster him, he remembered. And, with a small smile to himself, he admitted he made it easy for her when he tried to be so serious around her all the time.

Where had all that gone? Where had everything gone so wrong? He had been so sure of her. In the beholders' caverns she had smiled at him, as if she knew what was in his heart, as if she welcomed it. When she told him to wait, she had touched his mouth with her fingers – a delicate promise.

He didn't remember much after that. He saw Nathyrra fall and then … then… nothing. The next sight to meet his eyes was Brin, deathly pale and shaking, pleading with him as she wet his lips with a healing tonic. He remembers that his head was in her lap, and it almost seemed worth the pain for so glorious a pillow. As soon as she realized his eyes were open, she had placed her hands on either side of his face and bent her forehead to his – mindful of the dangerous horns – and closed her eyes.

He heard a moan and realized that their friend had also managed to make it through. Gently, she laid his head down on her folded cloak and left to tend to Nathyrra. He wasn't sure how long they lay down in that pit; time seemed blurry as he slipped in and out of consciousness. He knew that some times he'd wake up, cushioned again by her body, but every time he tried to speak to her, she'd left for some task.

He'd been puzzled, but there was no moment right for asking. They'd only barely made it back to Lith My'athar before the Valsharess' troupes had marched on the gates and everything was chaos in the hours before battle. Brin still seemed odd. When the Seer asked her to lead the troops, she paled and shook her head.

"I can not, Lady, please," she'd begged through trembling lips.

But the priestess had insisted, and then ordered them all to find rest where they could.

Seizing the opportunity, Valen followed Brin. He was bewildered by the way she jumped at his soft touch on her shoulder. "My lady, can I speak with you?"

He watched her hands with concern as she wrung the fabric of her cloak. "There isn't any time, Valen. We must prepare."

He only sought to soothe her, as he slid his fingers over the cool skin of her cheek, but she pulled away as if burned. "My lady, I would not go into battle with my heart left unsaid. I would have you know that I love you."

She seemed to sway on her feet and he reached for her, but she leaped back.

"No! No…no…I'm so sorry, Valen. I can't … I can't be what you need. I'm not … ," she broke off, tears raining from her storm-cloud eyes. "Forgive me, Valen. I must rest. I must think."

And then she was gone.

He'd offered to wake her when the herald cried the warning. He'd entered her room and found … found nothing. He'd called the alarm, sure that she'd been taken from them.

Frantic, he stormed across the courtyard, calling her name. With a vicious backhand, he levelled a Mae'vir noble who was unlucky enough to venture out loud that the saviour had abandoned them. And then, there was no time. With the Valsharess' hoards at the door, it was fight or die and he buried his pain in the inferno of his battle rage.

Bloody and broken, the Seer's rag-tag army of rebels did their best. Valen didn't recall much through the haze of his demon blood. He does recall seeing Nathyrra run up the side of a pitfiend, her swords arching in a graceful blur. He saw her delicate body slam against the rock as she was propelled by the devil's death throes. Time slowed around them as he raced to her and shouted for a cleric.

"She left us Valen," the drow gasped in his arms, ignoring the denial in his eyes. "You were right, I should have listened. I'll curse her through the Hells."

He carried her body back with him to the Seer's side, but a second wave of enemy had attacked from across the river, and there was no time.

Then, forming in the air above the abandoned temple of Lolth, an image formed in the air. The Valsharess in her crimson armour floated above them and at her side … at her side, stood Brin. The artificial Matron Mother gloated and taunted, with his love standing beside her, and then they disappeared in a flicker of magical light.

And then Mephistopheles came and all that was left was the dying.

Valen leaned in a dark corner of the Knower of Places' hall, watching Brin negotiate and wheedle with the strange creature. Even seeing her form beside their enemy he didn't really believe that she had betrayed them. Not until she met him in the Reaper's Hall with her eyes as cold and dead as the icy landscape did he understand – that she had left with the Valsharess.

Her demeanour here was that of someone he didn't know at all. It wasn't the Brin who had cajoled and teased, and it wasn't the Brin who sang and marched fearlessly into the enemy's home. But in some small moments – her plea to that strange dwarf whom she had named friend, in her determination when tackling a difficult problem and in that tiny flash of joy when she succeeded – in some small way, she was exactly the woman he believed she was in the halls of the beholders.

Brin finished up her business with the Knower of Places and flashed him that crooked, triumphant smile. "This way," she called.

And he followed.


	8. Chapter 8

She allowed herself a small sigh as they stepped through the portal and back into the bone-cracking cold, but she welcomed it all the same. The heat seemed to thaw parts of her that were best left frozen.

Despite being under the open sky, a grey haze pressed down on them, as oppressive as any of the tunnels of the Underdark. No winter sunshine ever touched these snow-covered hills. They slogged on through the drifts and, again, Brin let her self be transported, watching the slow wave of Valen's tail as he broke the trail in front of her.

They still fought well together, like two edges of the same sword. If either should slip, the other was always there, ready, protecting. Brin lost count of the number of creatures that came at them.

The demon was gaining in power. After each battle, it was more of a struggle for Valen to look at her with his own eyes. She watched him twitch and growl as he battled that which would consume him from within. In those moments, when she knew he could not see, she watched him with her heart in her eyes, knowing that her touch would only make the fight that much harder. He was doing this for her, she knew. This, too, was her fault.

In those moments when he was himself, Brin allowed him to hold her. In between waves of combat they huddled together to keep warm. Like a child in a tree fort, she peered out at the world from behind Valen's cloak. She kept her spine rigid against his body, as if it could somehow block the heat that seeped into her flesh. She swore she could feel the pounding of his heartbeat on her back, even through his armour. She hoped he could not feel hers.

Inside the empty, arctic halls of some giant race, they paused and built up a raging fire. As always, he sat behind her, protecting her back from the frigid air and giving her full access to the fire's heat. They ate quickly, silently, enjoying the warmth and lost in their own thoughts. Brin found herself slumping back, resting on his broad chest. He'd removed his gauntlets and his bare fingers traced the delicate curve of her ear. She breathed in for five heartbeats and her sigh shuddered through her body.

She stood up and gathered her cloak around her, eyeing him coldly. "We don't have time for this, here," she scorned and stalked off.

She barely knew where she was going, just knew she had to have some distance from the temptation that boiled through her blood. He would have her, she knew. He could take her into his heat, and she could drown in it, forgetting everything. She stared down at her hands as she walked; the pale, flawless skin seemed to glow even in the wan, grey light of Cania. She called forth a globe of fire to dance over her slender fingers and sneered at the light. In the end, it was all so useless.

A strange radiance from a corner of the great hall caught Brin's eye. Stranger still was the mouldering corpse of some unidentifiable devil, crumbling on the edges of her magical illumination. She thought about calling for Valen, but did not. Instead, she edged closer, cautiously. She began to hear a low murmur, as if somewhere very far away a battle raged. Finally, she began to make out the jagged shape of the crack in the hall's foundations, the glow – and the hum – were coming from the other side. She inched closer, keeping her breath steady and her step light.

Pressing her eye to the smallest part of the fracture, she peered outside, and was staggered at the sight that met her eye. A battle raging, indeed. All shapes and forms of devil and demon squared off in the snow-covered courtyard. Flame, ice and stone flew and burned and broke the masses of bodies. Screams and hellish laughter wound through the sounds of skin tearing and bones breaking. And in the centre of it all … her nightmare.

Brin broke out in a cold sweat and her knees buckled under her. The eight-legged creature wasn't interested in her, was engaged in its own struggle, but the beast's swift, skittering movement hypnotized Brin. She was sure, that even through the din and clash of battle, she could hear those sword-like legs strike the stone beneath it. It was a sound she'd never, ever forget.

The darkness went on forever. She might have wandered beneath the beholder's caverns for days, her world nothing more than dark and fear. Her mind swirled and preyed on her until she wondered if there had ever been any existence other than this one.

When she finally spotted a glimmer of light ahead, she didn't know whether to hope or fear that she'd come full-circle. She inched forward, holding her breath, stepping as lightly as she could.

When she turned the corner, the sight stole the strength from her bones. A monster of a spider, fully eight feet tall, with a glistening armoured shell. The venom that dripped from the creature's maw sizzled as it hit the ground. And it stood between her and the room that was emitting the warm glow that had drawn her here.

She stood and stared for a handful of heartbeats. She turned and looked back into the darkness behind her. One deep breath, two, and she darted across the room towards the light.

It only took a few steps for the beast to register her presence, a few more before she heard the awful scrape of its armour across the stone as it gave chase. She didn't look back. She lowered her head and commanded her legs to carry her. A blast of webbing smacked into a pillar beside her and she gasped out a scream and ran harder. The door seemed to approach in painfully slow motion – with the sounds of her pursuer getting closer.

She took a deep breath and dove, her body almost fully through the small entrance, when a putrid mass of webbing stuck fast to her leg and foot. So focused on her target was she, that Brin almost couldn't register why her right foot refused to follow the left and she pitched forward onto her face.

Grabbing at stone with her raw and bloody fingertips, Brin tried to crawl forward, but the webbing wrapped around her ankle held her fast. She twisted and screamed, fighting to free herself as the bebelith closed in on her. But there was no give in the sticky mass. Terror flooded her mind as two spindly legs straddled her prone form. The monstrous head snapped down, faster than she could comprehend and a giant fang pierced the muscle of her thigh. She screamed as the toxin blasted through her flesh. She whimpered and grovelled as the hiss of dripping venom fell all around her. She would die here. Her friends would die here, because of her.

Burning poison spattered across her back and her legs, burning deeply into her right calf – through the web. Turning, she scrabbled backwards on the stone, kicking her entangled foot, dragging the numb and useless limb, watching the looming bebelith. It reached for her again, but she managed to slide under the low ceiling of the small room and it couldn't get through. With an otherworldly scream, it rammed its hard body into the entrance but got no further.

Gasping and swearing and weeping, she ripped the web from her boot and crawled to the base of the monolith in the centre of the room.

It hadn't taken her long to figure out the simplistic pattern of runes that activated the great pillar's secret. The rush of magic re-entering her body burned like the rush of blood back into a cramped limb. She doubled over with the pain of it. She lay, gasping, on the floor, feeling the power, the purpose, return to her mind.

"My lady? Brin?" A soft hand shook her. "My love?"

Her eyes flew open and she stared past Valen's concerned gaze to the icy walls of the frost giants' hall.

"No," she managed through lips numb with fear. "No. Not again."


	9. Chapter 9

Valen was startled by the declaration that rolled from her bloodless lips.

"What is it? Brin? Look at me, my lo … my lady."

She glared at him, her eyes narrowed. "You will stay here," she ordered, imperiously. "This is where we part ways."

The tiefling rocked back on his heels. "What? Brin, you can't mean this. Where am I supposed to go?"

"I don't care. I don't care!!" she pounded on his chest, her fists making no impact on his armour. "Stay here. Go back. I don't care. Just don't follow me."

She pushed away from him, and sprang to her feet. He reached for her, but she turned her back on him. "My lady, you know I won't leave you here. Where would I go anyway? The way back is closed to us."

She paused and her body seemed to sway with a strange rhythm. He laid his hand on her shoulder to steady her, but she turned to him and laid her fingers on his forehead. "You _will_ stay here," she said, and he remembered nothing else.

She was gone when he came to his senses. He had no idea how much time had passed, he struggled to rise, but found himself trussed like a Yule goose.

Betrayed!

Again!

His head drooped for a moment before he growled and writhed and the demon woke with a vengeance. He sneered as the sharp edges of his armour cut through the ropes easily.

He stood. He hadn't seen her leave, but the demon could easily smell her blood. He knew which way she went.

He stalked the hallways towards the glimmering crack in the building's walls. Her scent mixed with a smell that prodded the demon with fingers of hatred – devil! A lot of them. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a feral grin, and dove through the wall.

A part of him understood what was going on. A part of him saw the futility of this never-ending war, the blood and pain. A part of him welcomed the simplicity of the demon – no concern but to kill. A part of him saw Brin, a summoned creature by her side and electricity crackling from her body, fending off a bebelith and two pit fiends, screaming spells and dodging debris. A part of him knew she could not win.

But that part of him was smothered under the demon's rage. The beast poured out of the very depths of his soul and guided his flail with deadly accuracy. As if the last years of his life had never happened – escape, the Seer, Brin – the only thing that mattered was taking down as many devil-spawn as were stupid enough to come within his reach.

He roared with each swing, revelling in the solid vibration of each hit. When one adversary caught the head of his weapon in its hand, Valen leaped forward, planted one booted foot on the creature's knee and launched himself up. He grasped the fiery horn and ripped it from the monster's skull before landing in the snow, his flail in one hand, the horn in the other. Without a thought, he hurled the horn through a nearby vrock and imbedded his flail in the balor's face.

Blood and sweat dripped from his face, sizzling and steaming before it ever hit the snowy ground. Finally, there was nothing within his deadly reach – the only sound was his own harsh breathing – except for a soft creak and rattle from behind a nearby boulder. The demon grinned, and Valen stalked the sound.

But there was no devil. Only a strange, disjointed suit of armour seemed to stand guard over the huge chunk of rock. The demon growled and demanded violence, but Valen was too confused by the sight. The puzzle demanded rational thought, and there was no room for both thought and the demon.

Shaking his head and staggering as his body took notice of a host of new injuries, Valen approached the strange figure. Battered and, in some places, broken, the metallic form had taken the better part of a massive beating. One gauntlet hung uselessly in mid-air, and a shield dragged through the snow behind it. The suit of armour raised a sword in a defensive stance, but regarded the tiefling with something like … hope?

As Valen rounded the boulder, he understood. The armour was some … ally … of Brin's. She lay, pale and still, in the snow, her left side almost entirely under the stone.

She had to be alive. If she was dead, the summoned figure would be gone. In fact, the thing should have disappeared when she lost consciousness, but he wasn't about to question its motivation now.

Moving gingerly, he scooped away the snow beneath her, only barely noticing that the armoured … thing … seemed to be leaning against the boulder, keeping it from tottering over. With her in his arms, he realized she wasn't really hurt, only exhausted beyond endurance with the outpouring of power. Sighing, he carried her back to the fire in the giants hall … the rope was still there.


	10. Chapter 10

When the voluptuous form of the Valsharess materialized in her mind's-eye, Brin actually sighed in relief. At least her dreams would be free of spider venom and unending darkness.

"Vendui, surfacer. I greet you. Are you aware of who I am?"

Brin's skin crawled as Halaster's geas leached from her bones and into her brain. Her fingers itched to blast the drow's pretty head from her shoulders. "Oh yes. I could not be unaware, could I? You're such a frequent visitor to my dreams, I feel I should be offering you tea and sweetcakes."

"Oh, you needn't bother," smiled the Valsharess, sweetly. "You could just offer me your name."

"How about I offer you a dagger in your eye instead," Brin countered, words laced with poisoned honey.

The drow shrugged, and pouted charmingly. "There's no reason for such hostility, my friend. I'm the one here to make offers. I will admit to be somewhat … surprised by your resourcefulness, but I'm a pragmatic woman." Her smile sharpened like a glittering knife's edge. "I know how to use power to its fullest advantage. You and I could rule the world, my friend."

Even had this not been a dream, Brin would have laughed. "You? You would share power with a half-breed surfacer? You overplay your hand, Valsharess. I am not so stupid as to believe that! You have nothing to offer me."

For a disorienting moment, space seemed to shift and the Valsharess was beside her, lips whispering into her ear. "Do I not, my pale friend? Don't be so sure. I can _smell_ the fear and frustration that oozes from you, your soul blackens with it. Why do you continue to allow yourself to be led around by the nose? Grab hold of your destiny and make your own choice!"

The Valsharess' breath drifted past Brin's ear and coiled around her throat. _I think I spoke to soon about not having spider venom in my dreams._

Reality shifted and spun as the beautiful dark-skinned elf spoke, showing Brin the futures that could be – legions of soldiers clamouring to do her bidding, wealth and magical secrets at her fingertips, the mad wizard Halaster at her feet and grovelling for mercy, her mother _her mother!_ gazing at her with adoration and respect, men waiting in line for a kind word from her lips …

Her pale hand streaked through the air, and Brin held the Valsharess by her jaw. "Didn't you hear me? You have _nothing_ to offer me!" she hissed. "Take your empty promises and leave me be. I need some sleep. I have a battle to fight in the morning."

The drow's full lips curled into a parody of a smile and she wrenched herself from Brin's grasp. "Yes, yes you do. You might even win, you know. You might take me down and save that damned Seer's life."

Brin's eyes narrowed in suspicion, waiting for the trick.

"I'm sure you've already calculated that it may cost your life? You surfacers are so pathetic … so predictable … with your noble self-sacrifice. You'll throw yourself into the breach and your name will live on in glory, or some such rot. After all, you have been _ordered_ to lead this army, have you not?"

Again, Brin's head – or was it everything else – began a dizzying vortex as battle scenes raged around them. She saw herself leading the charge against a balor, she saw it fall under the might of her power. She saw herself fall, crushed, but the gate held.

"You're so tired, aren't you? It seems like maybe your final rest isn't such a bad idea. And they'll all mourn you. The Seer will say pretty words about your strength, your loyalty, your _sacrifice_," spat the Valsharess. "And they'll carry on with their lives."

Brin saw the tattered remains of the Seer's army, rebuilding the walls, rebuilding their homes, burying their dead, burying her …

"And what do you think will happen to your precious friends? The Seer cares no more about their lives than she does yours."

She saw Nathyrra, brave and swift, battered against the stone wall by a casual sweep of a pit fiend's arm. She saw Valen scoop up her body and run, his back already riddled with the stinging poisoned crossbow bolts of the Valsharess' army.

A low, soft chuckle made the hair on the back of her neck rise. "Do know what will happen to a demon-blood tiefling after death, surfacer?? No rest, no glory … just slavery, battle and pain …"

Valen fell, Nathyrra still in his arms. He looked up at her, his eyes begging for help. Forgetting the dream, forgetting the Valsharess, Brin called the power to her fingertips and found … nothing … The power – gone! The world caved in on her, and she watched as a devil's clawed hand smashed Valen down.

"You think you'll have the power to save him? Maybe, O Great General, you could just order him away from the danger. Won't that just grate on his warrior's ego? Replaced by you and commanded – by you – to the back lines. Isn't that the kind of man you love?"

The drow caught Brin's startled eyes.

"Oh, please. You positively stink of it … it reeks of weakness. This is why you'll never have real power, why your magic deserts you in the dark. You don't have the spine to walk away from the ties that bind you down."

Brin reached for the Valsharess' throat, but her fingers brushed smoke and air.

"Ah, my strange friend, you think I'm lying. You believe I'm trying to fool you, but your Seer doesn't have the only truth around. I have prophets, too. They warned me about _you_, didn't they? I know that I'll almost surely fall if you don't join me. So, that leaves me with the option of making sure that everything … every one … you hold dear goes down with me. My seers, as incompetent as they are, have assured me that this, at least, is well within my power."

Dark-skinned fingers, delicate and stained with blood, reached out. "Without you, the army will lose heart. They will scatter and run. Your tiefling is smart enough to run with them. Nathyrra, my dear traitor, is a survivor. She'll know how to stay alive. They may hate you, my friend, but they'll live. Come with me, surfacer. Fight the battle on your own terms. Fight for something _you_ desire for once."

Eyes wide, teeth clenched and bloody from where she'd bitten her tongue, Brin took the offered hand.

She was so warm.

She sighed and wriggled and buried herself in the languid heat that wrapped around her. Only when she tried to brush a strand of hair from her cheek did she realize that she could not move.

Her eyes flew open, but all she could see was flame. Twisting away from the cheerful campfire, she heaved her restrained body up until she could glare her full fury on Valen Shadowbreath.

"Let. Me. Go," she snarled.

He didn't reply, but only returned her glower with his own solemn stare. He sat across the fire from her, in an easy warrior's crouch, chewing his lower lip as he watched her, as if contemplating what to do with a particularly troublesome criminal.

She tilted her chin up in defiance, tossing her claret hair out of her eyes. If he noticed the trembling of her lips he made no comment. Tied soundly in the very same rope she'd used to bind him, Brin couldn't even move her fingers enough for a spark cantrip, let alone any useful spell. All she could do was to hold his gaze, refusing to give an inch.

Time stretched and swirled around them, locked in this strange battle of wills. Their very breath seemed to synchronise as the regarded each other.

Finally, "I would have an explanation, Brin. You owe me that, at the very least." His voice was rich and deep and washed over her like cream. The accusation she had expected was there, but so was his love, unmistakable.

Her breath hitched in her throat and she bowed her head to keep her eyes from the sea of his.


	11. Chapter 11

Valen snarled with frustration. He stood up and strode through the fire, scattering sparks and embers in his wake. He grabbed her by the ropes that bound her motionless and hoisted her body into the air.

"Look at me, my lady. _Look_ at me!" He shook her body in mid-air until her teeth rattled. "We go no further until I have some explanation."

He stared into her defiant grey eyes, gritting his teeth as he held the demon in check. She stared at him, as if willing him to violence. Then … then, she closed her eyes and her chin sank to her chest. She hung limply in his hands, no answers, no fear.

Valen's mind spun, trying to grapple with the puzzle of this woman in his arms. The demon backed away, yielding to the complexity of his thoughts. He lowered his hands, bringing her trussed body close. Threats were obviously not going to work.

"Fine, my lady. If you will not speak, then you will listen."

He lowered his giant body to the cold floor, cradling her in his lap. With one hand, he deftly released the buckles of his breastplate and tossed it aside with a clang. He felt her body stiffen as his heat crept up her spine.

He slid his cheek across her hair, burying his face in her neck. She bucked in his lap, twitched and snarled, but he held her firm.

"No. You _will_ listen."

He tossed his gauntlets to the floor after his armour. He reached around her body and stroked his calloused fingers down her face until she whimpered.

"I didn't know where you came from and I didn't believe in you. And I didn't trust you. You could have been annoyed with that, but instead you smiled and winked and teased."

He kissed behind her ear. He breathed in the scent of her – like sandalwood and vanilla sweetcakes.

"Oh, my lady, you proved me so very wrong. When I would have turned back a hundred times, you pressed on. I was never sure if it was due to sheer bloody-mindedness or simple curiosity – but you couldn't leave a stone unturned or a door unopened. And you seemed to take joy in every step. When it was boring, when it was painful, when it should have been hopeless, you kept going."

His fingers brushed her lips, her cheeks, her temples. They threaded through her hair that shone like rubies in the firelight. He could feel her body shaking, trembling.

"You turned me inside out, my lady. When I thought the most I could hope for out of this life was an escape from pain, you showed me solace and cheer and laughter. You showed me music and dance. You showed me trust and respect."

His tail ceased its slow dance and wrapped itself around her ankle and slid up her calf. Her back arched and she slammed her head back into his chest, but he simply raised his hand and cupped the back of her head, his fingers digging lightly into her skull.

"I thought you foolish, but you were just fearless. You were so careless with yourself. I would have pounded that false avian priest into the ground for what he did to you, but you weren't even angry. His filthy curse raged through you; I could feel the heat from your body across the room … and you still _laughed_! I still remember your words – as if they'd been written on my skin. 'It's all right, Valen. We're just playing.' Even when you staggered and came so close to falling, you smiled. I loved you then, my lady. I couldn't help it."

Her body froze, ceased all movement, her breath and heartbeat itself seemed to stop. His fingers never stopped the slow, smooth caress of her hair.

"You drove me mad. You would touch me and I thought for sure you could hear my heart pound. I would have given years of my life to touch you. But what did I know about courtship? I know battle, my lady. I know slavery and I know pain. I didn't know what this music, this laughter, might mean. I didn't know if you desired my touch at all."

It might have been a laugh. It might have been a gasp, but it ended up as a sob as Brin collapsed into him. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close as all the rage of the past days erupted in weeping. She didn't even notice when he released the knots that held her, but she wrapped her arms around his neck as her body heaved against him with each ragged breath.

She grabbed his hand as he brushed tears from her face and pressed her face into his palm. Her breath squeezed through his fingers as she fought to steady herself. He simply kept stoking her hair until she fell silent and still, asleep. Slowly he regarded the hand she had grasped, wondering only if he had imagined the kiss she had placed there.


	12. Chapter 12

Brin staggered as her feet hit solid stone. Orienting herself quickly, she took note of the Red Sisters that ringed the Valsharess' temple like wolves circling wounded prey. She saw … she shook her head in disbelief ... she saw the devil that had plagued her nightmares.

Even from across the room and bound as he was, he seemed to loom over her, over everything. "Mephistopheles," she breathed.

His rumbling laugh rattled through her body, almost driving her to her knees. Looking around, she realized no-one else seemed to be affected. "They cannot hear me, for I do not choose to have them hear me."

His voice was a mind-numbing boom in her skull. She fought to keep to her feet as the Valsharess shot her a sharp look. "I never deal well with teleports," Brin offered weakly.

The drow's snarl of disdain made clear what she thought of such weakness.

Steadying herself, Brin stared at the gigantic presence at the back of the room. To her trained eyes, the magical bonds that held him shimmered in the gloom, digging deep into the devil's flesh. She could not feel sorry for such a creature, but she smiled a sharp grin at the thought of his revenge on the Valsharess should he free himself.

"Yesssssss," he hissed into her mind. "I can feel your desire for her destruction. Know you now, if you act quickly, before she can command me otherwise, I will not hinder you."

Feeling the drow's eyes burning into her back, she didn't dare to nod. There were so many protective spells on the woman that it made Brin's skin itch – it would take more than one swift spell to end this.

"The battle begins!" The Valsharess' smile was ecstatic as her army approached the gates of Lith My'athar. With a wave of her hand, the floor disappeared beneath Brin's feet. Instead, the battlefield appeared her.

"The first of you that breaks, I shall slay myself!" the Valsharess roared at her troops, and her whip shrieked through the air.

As the first wave of her soldiers smashed the gates, the drow laughed out loud. Brin saw the rebel forces stand their ground and die, slender drow bodies pierced with cruel poison and smashed with duergar hammers.

"Bah! And the fools still don't run? I'll whip them like dogs! I'll grind them beneath my boot!"

The battlefield dipped and swayed beneath them, as the Valsharess directed her troops. Brin's stomach dropped with the motion and then froze as she saw the first of the creatures summoned behind the Seer's first lines of defense.

_Run!! Nathyrra, Valen! Please run!!_

But no sound escaped her throat and they fought on. They all fought on. A low moan rose from her lips as she saw Nathyrra charge the pit fiend alone.

Again the scene moved beneath her, until she could see the core of the Seer's settlement. Brin watched the priestess healing those around her, closing ragged wounds, heedless of the fiery arrows that struck the ground around her, and pierced her own flesh.

The pain her heart threatened to rise up and choke her. And yet, there was Valen. Wounded, but alive! He neared the Seer's place and as he approached, Brin saw … in his arms …

"You will bow before me, even as the Hells bow to me!" The Valsharass was vibrant in her power. "Your saviour has joined me! You are all lost!"

Brin saw Valen look up and his eyes widened. She saw him clutch the ragged bundle in his arms – Nathyrra. His eyes held no accusation, only hope, only love...

"Do you believe surviving this little skirmish is reason for hope? You will face the power of Mephistopheles and you will cower!"

Brin swayed on her feet as she saw Valen lay Nathyrra's body to the cold, stone floor. She reached forward, as if to touch him, but the scene dissolved and she was once again surrounded by the dark shadows of the Valsharess' temple.

"Prepare, my sisters. They'll come to us now … you, Th'raine, tell the sentries to…"

The Valsharess' words were cut off in a harsh gurgle as Brin's little dagger dove into her throat. The priestess was strong, but too small to twist away from the half-elf's grip in her hair.

"Do you feel that, _Valsharess_?" Brin's voice was little more than a rasp, breathless with the screams trapped inside her breast. "Did you think your lures would be more powerful than Halaster's thrice-damned geas? It leaves me with only one objective – to end your life."

Holding the drow's sagging body, her fingers slick with blood, Brin braced herself of the Red Sisters' onslaught, but was stunned to see them, every single one, burst into flames. Their dying screams were drowned in the avalanche of Mephistopheles' laughter, as the magical bonds dissolved in a burst of energy.

"Well done, my little mortal!" The full power of the devil's voice drove Brin to her knees in the Valsharess' blood. Clutching her skull, she screamed as his power washed over her. The slow, deep rumble of his chuckle shredded her skin and she writhed on the floor. "Better than even I had hoped, but perhaps I should have expected such excellence from one who is little more than an extension of myself."

Forcing herself to her hands and knees, Brin could barely think past the ringing in her skull. "No," she gasped. "I am not yours. I .. am finally … free!

"No mortal,_ I_ am free." Mephistopheles grabbed Brin by her robes and hoisted her to his eye-level. "A great lord of the devils able to roam amongst the mortals and bring suffering to them as I wish, and there's not a one who possesses the power to stop me! I would begin with you, dear mortal, but since we are bound so closely that would not be prudent."

"Now, why don't you enjoy the show?"

Brin's mind filled with images of the battle outside of the Valsharess' tower. Valen – _still alive!_ – fought back to back with Commander Imloth of the Seer's forces, spinning and dealing death with a vengeance. Her heart soared to see him.

"Foolish, foolish little insignificant speck," rumbled the devil's voice in her mind. "There's no place for you here, now. This realm is mine, as are all in it."

Mephistopheles raised his hand and half the Seer's army crumbled to dust where they stood. Brin's scream of denial ripped at her throat and power burst from her hands and struck at him. Still, she saw Valen, surrounded by carnage, raise his head as if hearing her.

"No, Valen. Run! _Run!!_" Her voice was lost to her own ears as she realized, with complete finality, what a fool she had been, what she had unleashed. Her heart shattered as Mephistopheles' hand descended on her.

"No," barely a whisper.

She saw him look for her. She saw him call her name. She saw him fall, enveloped in the flame that danced around the last of the Seer's army.

_No!! Valen! Va-a-len!!!_

Her throat raw in the cold, she clutched at shadows as her body fought the inevitable. Her eyes snapped open in panic only to be lost in twin seas of blue that watched her, full of concern.

"Valen!"

"I am here, my lady." His arms were around her, his armour still stacked on the floor beside them. "I have always been here."


	13. Chapter 13

Her body thrashed in his arm, waking him. She whispered his name in her sleep, but didn't seem to notice when he held her closer. Her eyes opened, wide with fear, as if she didn't see him.

"Valen!" If she'd had breath, it would have been a scream.

"I'm here, my lady. I have always been here."

She stilled as she registered his presence, his face. He sighed and shifted his weight, waiting for her demand, prepared to release his hold on her. The order never came.

He nearly stopped breathing when her hand reached up to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. She seemed unable to look away from his face as her fingers trailed over the curve of his horn and down the back of his head.

_Valen?_ Her lips moved, but he heard no sound.

"Yes, my lady."

With surprising strength, she pulled his head down to hers and brushed her lips over his, tasting him. He froze, confused and afraid to move lest she pull away. But she didn't. She shifted in his lap and reached for him again. He tasted salt tears on her lips, drank them in. He lifted her, easily, to face him and she wrapped her arms around his neck, but didn't release his mouth for a moment.

He couldn't tell if it was her body trembling, or his own. He felt her heart pounding against his chest, and placed one hand over it as he kissed her.

Her kiss held none of the rage he'd felt from her before. Her hands cupped his face and her lips discovered his face, his mouth, the bridge of his nose, his closed eyes. She took his mouth again, demanding, then placed her small hand in the centre of his chest and pushed him back to the floor. Shuddering, he gave himself up to her, unwilling to fight it or look for a reason.

She wiggled as she sought a position on top of him and his body ignited. Without his armour, he could feel every curve, every soft line of her. She felt his body's reaction and leaned into it, making him clench his teeth around a groan.

When he opened his eyes, she was staring down at him, tears still streaming down her face.

"I'm so sorry, Valen."

"No, don't. It's all right. I'm all right."

She gasped around a surprised breath, and lowered her head to his chest. He realized with a start that she was laughing … _laughing_! She actually gave him a playful swat to the head, before her fingers tangled in his hair once more.

"I wasn't talking about _that_, tiefling," she growled, still chuckling.

He was too awestruck by her laughter to even blush. Entranced by the light sound that danced around them, he brushed her hair back from her face, a slow, amazed smile building in him. His body, however, was more interested in the way the laughter made her move against him. The heat surged in him, left him breathless, until she looked down at him again.

"I am sorry about that, too," her eyes glittered with tears and mirth. "I seem to always put you in the most uncomfortable of situations."

She leaned down and kissed him again, slow and lingering. When she looked at him again, her eyes were sober. "I'm sorry for so much, Valen. I can't even begin to tell you what I've done. I don't deserve to have you here at my side. I don't deserve any kindness from you. I certainly don't deserve to feel such joy in your arms. But I'm selfish enough to take it, even if it proves what a wretched creature I am."

He took a breath, to interrupt, but she placed her fingers on his lips. They smelled like sweetcakes. "No. I know the explanations that I owe you, believe me. And you will have them, I swear, even if it means you'll turn your back on me finally. But let's get out of here first. The fire's dying and it's going to get very cold, very quickly."


	14. Chapter 14

Brin didn't trust the strange giddiness that had claimed her heart. Nothing had changed, she knew. In reality, nothing had changed. The gravity and horror of their situation remained. People had died – were dying because of her.

Nathyrra had died because of her.

_He_ had died because of her.

She didn't deserve the smile that tugged at her mouth as she watched him shoulder his packs with ease. But as surely as she had called Valen back to her side from the dead, so too had he called her back from her ice non-life. She knew it was all hiding just around the corner – the pain, the guilt of what she had done – waiting to devour her again. She shoved it away.

No matter what happened after this, she would carry with her his soft, shy grin, so out of place with the soldier's ease of his body. She carefully filed away the memory of his graceful stride and the flame of his hair – the only colour in this bleak landscape.

They trudged through the trampled blood-stained snow that had been the scene of the latest skirmish in the Blood Wars. She watched him pull and fight with his demon. She could almost hear its demands for more carnage.

_Soon. You'll have your fill and more … soon._

She really wished she didn't have to be right quite so often.

As soon as they stepped on the prison's hard-packed ice, Brin could feel a magical tension snap through the air. She froze and Valen stopped beside her, testing the cold air as if smelling prey, as if sensing something … wrong.

She sensed the low rumble in his chest before it became a full-blown growl. "Devils!"

The word was almost unformed, barely able to push past the fury in his throat. She felt his body shake and his muscles bunched and tensed, preparing to deal death on those frigid fields.

Fire streaked down upon them from the grey sky, shooting ice shards into the air. Where each splinter fell, a monstrous devil warrior appeared, horned skulls for heads, fiery leather wings. They smelled of sulphur and rotting meat.

In the centre of the horde stood a Balor baron. Slightly smaller than Mephistopheles himself, the creature nonetheless towered over its army. His unfurled wings seemed to touch the sky.

"Kill the mortals!!" Its deep, animal growl shook the ground.

To Brin's surprise the mass of bodies hesitated.

"But … M'lord … this is Brin Jr'iene … the slayer of devils."

Brin blinked. _Wait! What?_

"Kill it!!" the baron shrieked. "Kill it or I will show you more pain than your pathetic mind can comprehend!"

"Yes M'lord."

But they were too late.

Brin used the precious moments of their delay to seize on a desperate plan. Grabbing Valen's hand, she dragged him through the snow to the river's edge. Wrapping one arm around him, she hurled the grappling hand into the air and hauled them both away from the mob.

She could hear the army's screams of rage as she and Valen launched out of their reach, but she was more concerned with the snarls building deep inside the tiefling.

"Valen! Valen, listen to me! Stop it. There's a better way to do this."

Finally, looking him in the eye, Brin was driven back a step by the unseeing flames there. His face was twisted with a feral madness that threatened to melt the very snow under their feet. Old battle scars stood out vividly, criss-crossing his ice-pale face. He teeth ground around the inarticulate snarls that rose from his throat. He took another step towards Brin.

She slumped in defeat and held the demon grappling hand out towards him.

_Be careful_, she thought, but said nothing. He was already gone.

She did what she could from her distant vantage. She ripped magic from the heavens and from her own body. She tried to protect him as best as she could. But the lightening and fire that flew from her hands seemed cold beside the inferno that was Valen Shadowbreath.

Brin found herself hypnotised by the blur of motion he created, his flail swinging wide and graceful. Never had death come with such beauty.

She saw a devil's spear strike at the back of his knees. She saw him buckle and fall and take out the creature's pelvis as he rolled to his feet in a single, smooth motion. She saw arrows of fire sink into his flesh, ignored, as he leaped and spun, his armoured foot planted firmly in a skull-like face.

When the chain of his gigantic weapon became entangled in the weapon of another, she could see the flex and bend of his body as he heaved his opponent closer, lowered his head and drove his own horns and skull through its sternum.

The more he killed, the more appeared. He didn't slow and he didn't hesitate.

Finally, she stood in mute amazement and simply watched the flowing motion of destruction. She felt each blow that his body absorbed and wept for each drop of blood spilled – yet another sacrifice to the unending war. It took her a while to realize that no new enemy were appearing as others fell beneath him.

As the last beast fell to the blood-soaked slush, suddenly there was silence. Only Valen's harsh breath echoed over the windswept battlefield.

Brin sank to her knees in the pristine snow on her side of the river. She watched him slip and fall, crawl up and drag himself to his feet and slip again. Her throat closed around the misery that rose watching him struggle.

But when the world swam around her, it wasn't because of her tears. When she raised her head again, she found herself kneeling on the same bloody dregs as Valen.

"No, mortal. You do not get to hide from me. I am your destruction."

Brin rose to her feet before the monstrous Balor lord. Her mind raced through an inventory of the spells left to her – little enough. But she, at least, was whole …


	15. Chapter 15

A soft breeze tugged at his hair, demanding that he open his eyes. He struggled to do so, struggled to see through air that seemed to be red-tinged with blood. A dim urgency, a memory of violence and pain, prodded him to raise his head. But what he saw made no sense to his addled brain.

He must have fallen in battle, but someone – a woman, small and lithe – was dancing across the soiled battlefield, spinning and leaping. Grimash't chased her, the Balor lord roaring in fury. What woman was insane enough to walk on the fields of the Blood War?

Valen shook his head. No. Grimash't was dead. He could still remember the scald and burn of the dread Balor's blood washing over his hands and down his arms. _So ... what …?_

His vision fogged, it seemed to Valen that time had slowed. The woman's graceful dance whirled in slow motion, the intricate wave of her hands traced blue and purple light through the air. Why was this all so familiar? Surely there should be sound with all of this – a crackle of electricity, the hiss of acid? But his ears seemed to be stopped up, everything muffled.

Valen shook his head, desperate to understand.

He watched the woman strike and strike again, drawing small marks across the Balor's skin, leaving behind burns and blisters. She dodged attack after attack, launching fire and ice behind her.

The woman turned and he caught a glimpse of blood-red hair and terrified grey eyes. _Brin!!_ She raised her arms in a protective gesture that seemed laughable against the force of the massive blow levelled at her, but the Balor's weapon struck a magical barrier. She was forced back through the filthy snow by the collision, but unhurt.

Time resumed its normal pace and the graceful dance became a mad whirl. Valen strained to rise to his feet, but was held motionless – by the devil's magic or Brin's he didn't know. He _did_ know that either was equally likely.

It would only take a single blow from the huge devil to put an end to Brin's dance. Valen knew. He had seen the power of such a beast many, many times. He snarled, unable to understand why Brin seemed to be playing with her adversary. He knew what kind of power she contained – yet the minor spells she was using served only to enrage the Balor.

Comprehension drained the blood from his veins. _She doesn't have anything else left_.

Both sides of the tiefling's divided soul howled – the demon for another taste of devil's blood, the human for the sight of Brin's small form beneath the shadow of the dread Balor's bulk. His muscles twisted and wrenched against his bones, wounds opened and bled with the effort, but his body remained still.

He closed his eyes against the site of her beauty and foolish, foolish bravery, but he couldn't block out the clear ring of her voice as she emptied all the magic from her body.

He was amazed she was still standing. A magical drain like this should have left her unconscious, at the very least. But a trail of small vials told the story – she would have to pay twice over, once for the magic and once for the potions that were keeping her on her feet.

Slipping in the pink slush, Brin scrambled away from yet another heft of the Balor's hammer. In a flash, she was on her feet again, a small crystal wand in one hand. She launched a series of small stinging missiles of magical energy and twisted away from another swing.

Valen lost track of all time. He had been watching this dance forever. When Brin's wand crumbled to dust in her hand, she drew out another. The Balor was mad with pain and leaving a trail of steaming blood in the snow, but Brin was beginning to tire. Her steps faltered. When she scored a hit on the devil, she gasped for breath instead of reaching for an advantage. She was slower to get to her feet when she slipped.

Then, her spin lagged just a little and the devils hammer clipped her shoulder, sent her crashing to the ground. The ground shook beneath Valen's feet with the resonance of the devil's laugh. The creature reached down and plucked Brin from the ground and held her in front of its face. She hung limp in its grasp, head lolling.

For the first time in his life, Valen begged his demon to take everything, wash everything from his heart and mind, if only he could get one strike at that filthy, leering creature. He bucked and writhed and … the bonds around him gave … just a little, but enough. He twisted just enough to heave his precious flail across the blood-covered plain. It struck the Balor in the back of its horned skull and the thing staggered forward, then turned – too late.

Valen heard Brin's voice, sharp and pure, and saw her hand reach out for the devil's face. A blinding flash of red-purple light dazed him, but he saw the Balor fall, saw Brin slip from its grip and land hard on the ground, unmoving.


	16. Chapter 16

She stared at the ceiling of the frost giants' hall, blinking. _How am I here? Did I imagine it all? His words? His touch? Everything?_

She began to rise, but a streak of fire slammed into her side and she lay back down with a moan.

In an instant Valen was at her side. Despite the pain that was making her head swim, she smiled at the concern that shone from his sky-bright eyes. "Brin? Don't move. Please. Just … oh, gods, I thought you'd never wake. I'm no healer, Brin. I didn't know what to do and I didn't dare give you any more potions. What were you _thinking_? Why…"

She raised her good arm and placed her fingers on his lips to stop the flow of words. He closed his eyes and placed his hand over hers, pressing a kiss on her fingertips. She raised her other hand, but the slight movement made her gasp and swear.

Valen sat back on his heels, a small smile dawning over the torment on his face. "Damn, it's good to hear your foul mouth! Never thought I'd say that."

She rolled her eyes and smiled through the pain. "Shut up and pass me one of those green vials. No, no…don't worry. I'll only have one … just enough to sit up and see what's going on here."

He raised an eyebrow at her, but reached for her pack. He pulled out the delicate glass vial and placed a gentle hand under her head.

"Oh for…dammit! I can do this myself," she growled. She waved him away, but winced with the motion.

"Shut up, Brin. Just be quiet and drink it."

She considered sticking her tongue out at him but decided it lacked dignity. Instead she swallowed the potion that he held to her lips. She closed her eyes as the concoction sent a wave of warmth through her body. She stretched her muscles and groaned as torn muscles and bruises shifted and knit.

He gathered her carefully into his arms. She realized he wasn't wearing his armour, she could feel his heart pounding against her body. Without any hesitation, she wrapped her arms around him and raised her mouth to his.

She heard him tremble on an indrawn breath as he returned her kiss. She closed her eyes and luxuriated in the sensation of his lips and the heat of his body. He was holding her too tightly, but she didn't care. She felt safer here, pressed to his broad chest, than she'd ever felt before.

His hands shaking, he stroked her cheek and pulled away from her. She made a sound of irritation and reached for him again.

"No you don't, my love. You won't tempt me now. Your hurts aren't gone and I won't be the one to make them worse."

"Damn your noble hide," she growled, and the full grin he turned on her was worth being thwarted – almost. "By the gods, it's warm in here. What have you done, Valen? Moved us to a whole new plane?"

He looked sheepish. "It's just the fire. I've been emptying out some of the rooms in here, chopping up the furniture. You were out for so long, I … well, I might have gone a bit overboard."

In truth, the blaze almost touched the ceiling of the great hall. Brin giggled. "How long _was_ I out?" she dared ask.

"I don't know…days. It felt like forever." He turned a solemn gaze on her. "You scared me to death, Brin."

She sighed and leaned her head back against his arm. "Damn. Days? We don't have that kind of time to waste."

"I don't consider your healing a waste," he scowled at her. "And we're not going anywhere else soon, either. We're staying right here until you're whole again."

She began to object, but he prevented her outburst. "Argue with me and I'll tie you up again. Someday I'll have to thank you for showing me that method of negotiation. It's very effective."

Dignity be damned, this time she did stick her tongue out at him. His full laugh warmed her more than the towering fire.

They stayed and slept by the fire, despite Brin's repeated objections. Valen kept a solicitous eye on her injuries, and she showed him how to bind a wound and make a poultice to keep him busy. She tended to the damage he'd ignored on himself. He bundled their cloaks and packs together to make them comfortable and cooked for them, making even the most questionable of their supplies tempting.

"Where did you learn this?" she asked, enjoying the flavours of a particularly aromatic stew. "It doesn't seem like a skill one would learn in the battlefields … or one that would make much of a difference to your particular comrades-at-arms."

He grinned at her – something that was happening more and more frequently. "No, when I escaped the Abyss, one of the first beings I encountered was a gnomish druid. Don't laugh! It's true. And lucky for me, as well, because he was a wonderful fellow. Never once did he even mention my appearance, he just accepted me, taught me how to get along on that world."

He gave the pot a quick stir. "He taught me about herbs and flavours. You can't imagine what a revelation that was for me, Brin. Had I known what joy could be taken in food and sensation, I'm sure I would have made my escape much earlier."

She rolled the tastes around in her mouth, concentrating on them. "Mmmm… I don't understand how you did this. I've never had anything like it, but it still tastes … familiar, like …" Her mouth dropped open and she levelled a thunderstruck look at him. "You've been in my spell components!!"

He laughed. "Trust me, Brin. You wouldn't want to eat that without some magical intervention."

Later she lay in the red-orange glow of the fire, watching the flames rise and fall over his face. Her fingers chased the streaks of light through the soft fall of his hair. Her body felt whole and healthy. Her heart felt … at peace… here, in his arms. When he spoke, she felt the vibration of his voice along the full length of her body.

"In the morning, we'll move on," he said. "Our supplies are low, and there's only a handful of those fire-starting berries left."

She nodded, words of denial stuck in her throat. If she could stay in this moment forever, she'd sell her soul. She slid her hands under his tunic and soaked in the heat from his body. His muscles tensed under her fingers.

"Brin, I …"

She silenced him with her mouth.


	17. Chapter 17

The flames danced around them in their icy haven.

"Don't talk, Valen. Just … I just need you … please."

With a growl, he buried his face in her neck and breathed in her mysterious scent of exotic wood and sweetcakes. She tugged at his tunic and when he rose to his knees, she slid it up over his head. Abruptly, she pushed him an arm's length away. Confused he opened his mouth, but shut it quickly at the look in her eyes.

Eyes shining in the dancing flame, she devoured the sight of his body. She twisted her body until she knelt before him as well. With trembling fingers, she traced the long line of a scar from his collarbone to his ribs. His breath hitched as her hand slid down across the flat planes of his stomach.

She rose to her feet and walked behind him. He watched her robes pool at her feet as she strode past, then the heat of her skin pressed against his back. He felt her hands loosening the leather thong that kept his hair tightly bound. Her fingers combed through his hair, spreading it out over the muscles of his shoulders and across his back. She kissed the pointed tips of his ears and even the horns that curved from his head.

"I've wanted to see this, I think, since I first laid eyes on you," she whispered. "I've wanted to touch you for so long."

Her hands smoothed over the lines that criss-crossed his back. He felt her fingers tremble and clench into fists on his shoulder. She leaned forward until he could feel her breath on his ear. "Grimash't is lucky it was you who spilled his blood, my dear. I would not let him off so easily. I would make him pay for this."

She walked around him again, unashamed of her own nakedness. The firelight danced over her pale skin, shadows catching the slender curve of her waist and high contour of her breasts. Valen swallowed, his mouth dry as his body responded. A slow, carnal smile grew over her full lips and her eyes filled with mischief.

She tugged him to his feet and tilted her head back as he towered over her. With one deft flick of her hand, his trousers fell in a heap beside her robes,

"Oh, Valen," she breathed, her grin growing. "You are magnificent."

He could feel the blush spread over his face and looked away. She closed the gap between their bodies, her cool skin against him. She reached up and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look her in the eye. "You would be shy with me now, Valen?" she smiled. "Please don't. I need to know you want this too."

With a growl, he reached for her and lifted her easily in his arms. "I love you, my lady. With all of my heart. I cannot fight this, my soul has wished for it for too long."

"Do you want to fight it, Valen?"

"No, my lady. I do not."


	18. Chapter 18

She didn't sleep. This moment, in the cold, grey light of dawn was too precious for sleep.

She watched his face; relaxed in slumber, he looked almost boyish. She smiled at the thought, knowing he would object to it. He couldn't see past his own history, past the battles and pain. But she could. While he slept, she could see the face of the child who had learned to pick locks in the brothels of Sigil. She could see the humour and hope in the easeful line of his mouth and his smooth brow.

She resisted the urge to touch him, not wanting to start the day. If she was honest with herself, for once, she knew she never wanted the day to begin. She wanted to throw off the yoke of duty and guilt and fear that had hung around her neck since the beholders' caves. She wanted to watch this man sleep, safe and whole, for the rest of time.

The heat from the fire was dwindling, but it was still warm enough that he had cast off the cloak that covered them. His arm, thrown protectively over her, kept her warm enough. She contemplated that arm, heavy with the muscles that guided his flail, marked with the scars of battle and torture. He contained so much strength, and yet had been so very gentle with her last night.

She hadn't been.

Her hunger and desire had overwhelmed her. She had teased and provoked until he'd been forced to hold her down, just for a reprieve. Her smile grew in the dim light, remembering that it had been his tail that had finally sent him over the edge.

At first she had merely been giving into the curiosity that had been nagging at her since she had first seen him in Lith My'athar. His body's reaction to her hesitant touch shocked her as he moaned and tensed, but begged her not to stop. Never one to give up an advantage, she had petted and stroked and kissed until sweat gleamed over his entire body. Gasping, he had captured her hands and rolled her on top of him.

The cold was beginning to intrude on the morning. He shivered in his sleep. She gently pulled a cloak over both of them and pressed her body closer to his. He stirred, his arms tightening around her, and opened his eyes.

She watched his face as he registered her gaze … as he remembered. The full power of the lazy smile that curled his lips took her breath away.

"Good morning, my love." Her eyes brimmed as his raspy tenor washed over her. She smiled through those tears and traced his mouth with her fingers.

"Good morning, my Valen."

"Brin, why are you crying? Did I hurt you? I …"

She cut him off with a full, rolling laugh, and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his broad chest.

"Hurt me, Valen? No … that's the very last word that comes to mind." She pressed a kiss over his heart, enjoying the way it made him squirm. "I am no _eldritch_ princess to weep at the loss of her maidenhead, silly man. My human blood is made of sterner stuff than that. Perhaps I should ask if I hurt you?"

He chuckled at the salacious leer she levelled at him, and kissed her hungrily. "Oh yes, my lady. I am damaged to the very core." He feigned a frail posture, resting the back of one calloused hand on his brow. "I shall have my family demand satisfaction!"

The laugh that bubbled up through her rang of the stone ceiling and frost-covered walls.


	19. Chapter 19

Valen had no memory of ever feeling so light-hearted. He could feel the heat of Brin's body walking beside him, even through his heavy armour. She was humming under her breath, a song he recognized. The traders in Sigil had taught it to him, and it still had the power to make him blush.

He raised an eyebrow at her and she sent up a grin that caught at his heart. This was his Brin. He shook his head at the mystery of it all, of this woman.

They were so close to freedom, he could almost taste it. The anticipation – and the slight form at his side – kept the demon at bay. Even the constant grey light of Cania seemed to catch the snow and sparkle as they made their way back to the bloody battlefield.

He watched Brin pace around the circle of frozen prison cells, counting and calculating. Finally, she stopped on one of them and knelt down, peering through the ice. "This is the one. I'm sure of it. She'd down here."

She placed a hand over the ice and muttered a few words. Flame and heat shot from her hand, melting the snow around her, but not so much as a scratch marred the prison's surface. She pounded a fist down on the ice. "Dammit!"

She sat like a frustrated child in the centre of the icy circle, knees drawn up and her pointed chin on her fist. Valen wandered over and tested chill surface with the butt end of his flail. Swinging lightly at the prison's edge with his weapon only served to send shockwaves of impact up his arms. He let out a low whistle. "You'd need a damned siege engine to get through this."

She looked up at him, her eyes calculating. Then her face lit up, sending a fiery warmth from his toes to the tip of his horns. She leapt to her feet and kissed him hard. "You are a very, very clever man."

In the form of an earth elemental, it didn't take her long to manoeuvre one of the battlefield's gigantic catapult to the centre of the ring of prison cells. She grinned at him, her eyes alight with hope. "I cannot wait to get out of here," she laughed as she mixed a concoction of alchemists' fire in the war machine's deep bowl. "Once we are free of all of this, I'm going to show you how to really tie someone up!"

Laughing felt so good, he decided there and then that it was worth every mark on his body and his soul to laugh like this with her.

With the catapult primed and ready, she stood beside him and wove her fingers through his. "Ready?" she beamed up at him.

"More than you know," he replied, raising his eyebrows, pleased with how she blushed and giggled.

A tiny spark from her fingers ignited the ammunition. A small swipe of his belt knife and the whole fiery brew launched through the air, landing squarely in the prison's frigid core.

Ice sizzled and splattered, and thick steam rose from the icy pit. The steam parted to reveal a dazzling creature of light and feathers, pale skin and green eyes.

"The Knower of Names," Brin whispered.

"Greetings Kagita'ar the Heartseeker, Light of Cania." The woman's voice was cold and pure, a crystal stream of water washing over them. "Long have I waited to speak your name to you to show my gratitude."

Valen's eyes narrowed in concern. "That is not fair, Knower. I should not have her name like that. Tell her mine. She's earned that."

Brin laid a hand on his arm. "Valen, no. That's not necessary, please. Aribeth warned me, you know, before we left the city. Names hold such power, and that power can corrupt."

"That's why you must have my name, my love. I cannot hold yours alone." He glanced up at the angelic creature before them, his bright blue eyes steady and sure. "Tell her, Knower."

"The gods demand a sacrifice for knowledge," the delicate woman pronounced. "For 200,000 in gold, you may know."

"I'll pay it," answered Valen, even as Brin shook her head again.

"You are Oeskathine the Demonwrestler."

A shudder ran through his very being. "Yes. Yes, that feels right."

Brin, still shaking her head sadly, gripped his hand. "You did not need to give me that."

"Yes I did, my love," he touched her face, tucking a ruby-coloured lock of shoulder-length hair behind her ear. Smiling, he said, "Now, shall we continue. We have a final task, I believe."

Valen left the rest of the negotiations up to Brin, nodding when he heard the appropriate nature of the Reaper's true name and grinning when she neatly sidestepped the Knower's refusal to name Mephistopheles.

"I am sorry to force you so," the half-elf whispered, "but I am bound - in many ways - to stop him."

"Damn you, Hellwalker," the Knower spat and Valen shifted protectively, his hand wrapping around the shaft of his weapon.

"No, Valen. It's all right. I have hurt her and I'm sorry. I deserve that from her."

He wasn't ready to leave the insult hanging, but Brin placed a hand on his arm. "Please, Valen. Let it go. Look. It's time for us to leave this place, we don't have time for hard feelings. Go, and gather our packs and I'll finish up here. I still need to know the name of the one the Sleeping Man waits for."

Scowling, he obeyed, but kept an eye on the pair of women as he waded through the puddles of melted snow and blood. Despite the miserable scene around them, his steps felt light and quick. _They were leaving!_

But, as he hoisted their near-empty bags over his shoulder, he saw Brin stagger, clutching at the robes of the icy Knower of Names. With a snarl, Valen dropped the bags and flew over the battlefield, convinced the strange being had exacted some sort of revenge from his beloved. When he reached her side, Brin was deathly pale and shaking.

He raised his arm to strike the bright creature down, but Brin's cold hand touched his wrist. "It's nothing, Valen. A shock, only."

"Did no-one warn you that holding True Names can be a burden," the Knower mocked. "That the power can drag you down?"

Brin's eyes hardened as she regarded the Knower's triumphant pride. "We must return to the planar and tell him his true love is dead."

Her back straightened and she ran an unsteady hand through her hair. "Now, go and get our bags out of the snow. I would have one more name."

He didn't ask her which soul she inquired about, but fetched the packs and returned to her side as she emptied out the last of her gold into the foul slush at the Knower's feet. "We are done here," she said. "Send us back."


	20. Chapter 20

She sent Valen to buy some supplies, explaining that she should deliver the news to the strange planar alone. He resisted, but gave way when she insisted it would be easier this way.

She waited until she heard the door close behind the tiefling before turning to face the Sleeping man.

She stared into the angel's pure face, shaking with a rage that threatened to burst from her skin and run like lava over the floor.

"I have found the name of your one true love," she whispered through clenched teeth.

"You have?" The planetar's beauty shone with an inner grace and his wings unfurled with his eagerness. "Tell me, where lies my true love? I have waited so long."

Brin's eyes darted over to Sensei Dharvana's corpse, still huddled and frozen in the Sleeping Man's chamber. "Over there," she pointed with a scornful tilt of her chin. "She's the one who watched you sleep. She's the one who protected you from the outside world. She's the one you repudiated for her false beliefs. She's the one who loved you above all else."

The Planetar's brow furrowed, as he gazed at Brin.

"No. This does not feel right." He regarded her quizzically. "Why do you lie about this?"

He took a step towards her, towered over her. He noted the tremors that shook her small body with concern and reached for her with a calming hand. When his fingers touched her shoulder, however, his brilliant eyes widened in surprise.

"You?"

"NO!" Brin's denial echoed off the cold, marble walls of the chamber, and she threw his hand from her. "No! I am not yours!"

The Sleeping Man's face softened with understanding, pity and affection. "You have been so named by the gods, my love. I have been waiting for you."

He reached for her again, only to have his hand blocked by the light winking from her dagger.

"Stay away from me. You are nothing to me! Nothing! You are an ineffectual lotus-eater, who sat here doing naught, while he walked the ice with me. Do you understand me? _He_ picked me up when I was thrown down. _He_ carried me when I was too tired to move! _He_ loved me when I deserved nothing."

Brin backed up with every edged word, her dagger hovering between them. The angel raised his hands, pleading.

"She told me to wait here for you. I would not leave this spot for fear you would pass me by," he whispered. "I battled the guardians to find you."

"Well, he battled the rest – by my side," Brin spat. "I am through with the gods and their traps. I have walked from one snare to another and I am through! Geas, duty, true names – they bind like the chains of slavery! No more!"

Gasping for breath, she waved her little knife at him again. "Go away. Leave me be. Go to the Knower of Places. She will have you. She loves you. But leave me be. I am not yours!"

He took another step towards her. "I cannot, my love. I will not let you walk away from me now. We are two halves of the same soul." He touched her face with gentle fingers. "You cannot turn from your destiny. You will only break yourself."

A flash of silver, and he stared at the red line that grew across his arm, blood welling, dripping to the stone floor.

"I would break the _world_ for him," she hissed, her face rigid with fury.

"Stop this, my love. You only hurt yourself."

"Don't you call me that. Don't you _dare_ call me that!"

The grief that twisted his features did nothing to mar the beauty of his face, the light of his being. She could feel the warmth of his love, drawing her to him, soothing her.

"Come with me. I will show you the virtue of the gods. I will show you that this all has a purpose. You are my one true love. You are named," he reached for her again. "You will understand, I promise…"

…and staggered as her delicate blade dove into his flesh and pierced his heart. His eyes wide, he stared at her, uncomprehending.

"No," she whispered again. "I defy the gods. Call me Kagita'ar the Heartseeker no more. I refuse the name. I refuse that destiny. Call me Ba'elzaden the Cruel, if you must. I will not be chained again."

The angel's weight slumped into her arms as his blood poured over her hands. She lowered him to the floor as gently as she could. "I'm sorry. Truly, I am sorry. But I will choose my own destiny. I will choose my own love."

"…but…" The Sleeping Man's eyes glassed over, and she felt his skin chill. "But … he is not ... he is not … yours."


	21. Chapter 21

He found her like that – kneeling in a cooling pool of the angel's blood, staring dully at her hands.

Alarmed, he crouched before her and touched her face gently. A moan, a low keening cry, parted her lips and echoed off the marble walls. Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around her while she rocked. No tears formed in Brin's grey eyes as she stared, blind and lost, and her robes turned a muddy, rusty brown as they soaked up the blood.

Valen had no idea how long he held her there, but he knew he had to get her away, away from the blood that was dripping from her fingers. He picked her up from the floor and she buried her head in his shoulder, shaking from head to toe. He carried her to the temple's giant library and settled her on one of the soft, woven rugs. Grabbing a flask of water from his pack be began to wash her as best he could, wiping red stains from her hands and her face. The robes would have to be burned, there was no saving them.

When she began to calm – or at least looked like she was seeing him again – Valen lifted her to his lap again and held her close. "What happened, Brin? What in the name of the gods happened?"

Her body stiffened as she twisted to stare at him. Then she blinked and shuddered. "He … he was angry … because she was dead, because we killed her," she rasped, her eyes searching his face for something he didn't understand. "He said we murdered her."

"That's absurd!" Valen cried. "He attacked you? He congratulated you for ending her blasphemy. He was there beside us!"

"Yes, yes, I know," her breath was stronger now. "But … I guess we can do awful things for someone we love."

Valen blew out a disgusted breath. "He attacked you for a woman with whom he'd never exchanged two words! How could that be love? The whole concept is ridiculous anyway."

Brin gave a tiny gasp of laughter and leaned her head back against his chest. "Of course, of course, you're right… it's ridiculous." And then she _did_ cry.

"Oh, Valen, he was so _good_. He was good!"

He held her. He always held her.

Brin remained thoughtful and haunted as they packed up and trudged to the Reaper's Hall. Valen was furious with himself for leaving her to face that alone, furious with that strange, self-righteous creature for upsetting the calm he and Brin had found. His tail lashed from side to side with each step.

The Reaper greeted them in his odd, sonorous voice that echoed down to Valen's bones.

"Hail the dead."

The very idea gave the tiefling the creeps.

Brin, her voice still shaking, pronounced the Reaper's true name.

"Hecugoth the Abandoned, you will release us from this plane."

Valen swore he could see the shadows under the grey hood smile.

"Yes, mistress, as you command, so I shall obey."

"Hecugoth the Abandoned, I command you to release the souls of the dead and allow them to pass."

"Yes, mistress."

"Hecugoth the Abandoned …" Her voice cracked. "… I command you to allow the Githzerai Pilgrims to return home."

"It shall be as you say."

Brin stopped, took a deep breath and another …

"Hecugoth the Abandoned…" She turned pleading eyes to Valen, but he couldn't comprehend what she was asking. "Hecugoth the Abandoned … you will command the soul Qeyifalia the Skyseeker to return here. You will call Nathyrra back."

"Brin! No…" Valen stood, shocked at what she had just commanded.

The Reaper hesitated only a moment. "Yes, mistress. I obey."

In the pale gleam of the Reaper's Hall, the tiny form of Nathyrra materialized. Valen was torn between the overwhelming joy of seeing his friend again and dismay at what Brin had done.

Nathyrra, however, had no such reservations. There was murder in her eyes as she launched herself at the sorceress. Valen moved to intervene, but there was no need. Of course, there was no need.

"Qeyifalia the Skyseeker, you will not harm me."

Nathyrra's body jerked as if she had struck a brick wall, all the breath leaving her body. "Traitor!" the drow spat. "Filthy, lying betrayer!"

"Yes, Nathyrra. All of those things. More, as well. So much more. You forgot 'coward,' 'thief and 'murderer.'" Brin's eyes were hard as she gazed upon her former friend. "Now, I'm afraid, you can call me 'tyrant'—or perhaps 'oppressor' will do?"


	22. Chapter 22

Valen grabbed Brin's arm. "What's going on? Brin, why are you doing this? This isn't right!"

"No, Valen, it isn't right." She shook her arm free of his grasp. "But it is necessary. Do you forget? We face an arch-devil. We need all the help we can get!"

"You call her only to die!"

"No. I call her to live. What she does with it is her choice. Well… " She cast a side glance at the enraged assassin. "…aside from slitting my throat, that is."

Brin turned to face Nathyrra again. "I'm sorry you can't have your richly deserved revenge on me, but I offer you the chance to take at least some of your rage out on Mephistopheles." Her smile was bleak, skeletal.

"Bah! I'm tired of saying I'm sorry for everything." The sorceress waved a negligent hand. "Qeyifalia the Skyseeker, you live. You will stand with us against Mephistopheles. What you do with yourself after that is not my concern."

Brin faced the hatred in her friend's dark face with unblinking calm. There were no answers she could give, so she didn't trouble herself looking for any.

"We will rest for a while. I need to prepare."

She gathered up her robes—new ones. The old ones were burned, stinking with the angel's blood. She pushed the thought away and turned from her companions and strode away, leaving them in stunned silence. She looked back, over her shoulder, in time to see Valen's face light up as he embraced his comrade-in-arms. Her heart caught at the joy she saw in him. Nathyrra might hate her, but that smile was worth the price of this sin.

Brin sorted through her bags, readying scrolls, powerful magic items, spell components and … and her small dagger, which she carefully tucked in her belt. As prepared as she could possibly be, she looked up and watched Valen and Nathyrra. They had built a small fire on the other side of the room. The Reaper's Hall protected them from Cania's brutal wind, but the air was still frigid.

Brin shivered and drew her cloak tighter around her. She watched the flames dance and flicker over Valen's hair and Nathyrra's dark skin as they huddled together, talking animatedly. He was showing her the strange hand they'd acquired in the Mimic's cavern, demonstrating for the drow's fascinated gaze.

The sound of their laughter echoed off the cold marble walls of the Reaper's Hall and Brin felt an icy hand wrap around her heart. Suddenly she was exhausted. Wrapping herself up in her cloak, she rested her head on one of her softer packs and closed her eyes.

She spun through her dreams, adrift and out of control. She reached out, her pale hands grasping for any anchor as she fell. Her mother's face flashed past, her eyes cold and forbidding. Her arms were crossed over her chest, just like the last time Brin had seen her – no hand reached out to save her falling daughter, now or then.

Then, a dark face appeared, almost invisible in the murk. Metallic bands woven through his hair, Lord Nasher's spymaster only gazed at her sadly as she dove past him. Next, a half-orc with strangely wise eyes and a wicked double-bladed axe – he reached out but missed. He always missed.

Brin began to tumble backwards, end-over-end, as she fell. Faces spun past her, the Waterdeep innkeeper, a mischievous wink from a pretty dwarven rogue, the unyielding fervour of a monk of the Long Death…a sad-eyed _kobold? _…sneering triumph in the face of a beautiful white-haired assassin…

Releasing her breath, Brin gave herself up to the fall and waited for the inevitable impact. But there, just below her, a pale face full of sorrow, and brilliant blue eyes … and a strong hand extended to catch her. Frantically, she reached out for Valen and her body snapped as he stopped her fall. She dangled over the unending darkness, clinging to his hand with all her strength.

She sobbed with relief as the tiefling began to pull her up, hauling her out of the oblivion that waited below. But a great weight suddenly pulled back, clinging to her feet. Her grip shifted in Valen's. She kicked her feet, desperate to free herself, but the weight clung and her fingers slipped.

Looking down, her heart stopped in her throat. Long, beautiful fingers wrapped around her ankles, the planetar gazed up at her, love in his eyes, his wings broken and scorched. Blood dripped from an open wound in his breast, and fell soundlessly into the void.

Valen still struggled to drag her to him. His muscles pulled and strained, but he was slipping—he would fall with her.

Weeping, her tears mixing with the Sleeping Man's blood as they fell together, she opened her hands and let go. She watched Valen, his beloved face, disappear into the darkness as she fell.

Her body jackknifed up, damp with sweat even in the cold air. She blinked into the darkness, just able to see the embers of Valen and Nathyrra's fire in the distance, and the sleeping forms of the drow and tiefling huddled together for warmth. Calming her breath and wiping her eyes, she hauled herself to her feet.

It was time to end this.

Valen woke instantly and rolled to his feet, an old soldier's instinct. She stood stoically for his assessing gaze and hardened her face before he could see the misery in her eyes.

"Wake Nathyrra," she ordered, her voice harsh in the silence. "It's time."


	23. Chapter 23

Even in the dark of night, the scene that greeted them stunned Valen – he who had survived countless years of the Blood Wars. Glancing at the two women at his side, he saw Nathyrra stagger, overwhelmed by destruction and blood. Brin… Brin, whose home this had been, seemed made of ice as her gaze took in the entirety of the devastation and chaos.

The soldiers of Waterdeep – soldiers and any beardless lad who could hold a sword – were behind a crude barrier of merchants' carts, stone rubble and magical shields. The fragility of blockade was farcical; a child's game of war against the horror that rose from the Underdark in waves.

Every fell creature they had faced below the surface of Toril came crawling up – beholder, illithid, duergar – they marched, vacant and unseeing, from the very depths of a nightmare. Each creature bore mortal wounds, yet still walked, powered by the unlucky souls stolen from Cania by Mephistopheles. This was a favourite trick of devils – the more your army died, the stronger theirs became.

Valen heard a low cry of dismay and turned to Nathyrra in time to see her become violently ill. He looked past her and his heart sank. Along with the leagues of monsters, the tiefling recognized those soldiers of Eilistraee who had fallen beside him before the Valsharess' tower. Bile rising in his throat, he spat. His face hard, he turned to Brin for direction, expecting her to be as shaken as Nathyrra.

She wasn't. She looked grim, but as if the scene only confirmed what she had already known. She didn't hesitate.

"I can see Durnan and Sobrey in the northeast sector," she whispered. "Durnan seems to be leading what forces there are. Sobrey's the wizard."

Valen nodded. "We'll join them and get the lay of the land. If Mephistopheles has made an appearance, they'll be the ones who know."

"If Mephistopheles had made an appearance, there would be nothing for us to see here," Brin countered. "We may be in time after all."

The trio moved cautiously in the darkness, skirting the major clusters of the enemy, but taking out any that crossed their path. Nathyrra vented her rage in deadly silence. Her blades danced in and out of undead flesh, cutting a path of gore. Neither did Brin make a sound, yet sparks and flame flew from her fingertips, scorching and burning those in their way.

Without the constant devil voices of Cania taunting him, drawing the demon out, Valen was forced to face the night with complete clarity. He could not tuck the memory of this brutality behind blinding rage. It would remain with him forever, each swing of his flail, each spatter of blood and bone. Shaking his head only slightly, he matched the two women step for step, kill for kill.

Once or twice, they felt the ground rumble and roll under their feet. The first time it happened, Brin stopped short and tilted her head as if listening for something. The second time, she simply cursed under her breath and stepped up her pace.

The moon had risen full over the city by the time they reached the city's defenders. Brin motioned for Valen and Nathyrra to stay in the darkest shadows. She crept forward alone, avoiding the sentries. Valen saw the warrior-turned-barkeep wheel around and swing his sword at Brin's unprotected neck. He snarled and leaped forward, but Nathyrra's hand held him back even as they both saw the blade bounce off Brin's magical shield.

"That one can take care of herself," the drow sneered under her breath.

They watched as the innkeeper enveloped the sorceress in a powerful hug. Even at this distance, Valen could see Brin's body stiffen, before she pushed herself away from the embrace. The two surfacers spoke earnestly in the torchlight and, finally, Brin gestured in the direction of her hidden companions. He saw Durnan's startled gaze swing over the shadows that cloaked them.

Brin led her friend over to Valen and Nathyrra. The tiefling could see the whites of the old warrior's eyes as the full impact of his guests' identities was revealed.

"Oh, aye, Brin. I can see what ye mean, now. These two might certainly have encountered a reception I could not control." He turned weary, hardened eyes on Valen and Nathyrra. "Brin here says yer all right. Truth is, you're alive, and I figger that alone puts you on our side. We're in no position to be turning anyone away."

Valen shook the outstretched hand, respecting the caution – and desperation – he read in Durnan's face. Nathyrra simply nodded her head in acknowledgement, keeping her sensitive eyes turned from the glare of the torch.

Another rumble shook debris from a ruined temple beside them. Brin grabbed Durnan's arm. "You have to get everyone out of here," she gasped. "He's coming."

"How can ye know that? We've been waiting for him for days."

"The rumble—I know it. It's his laughter."

Durnan paled.

Despite her tiny size, Brin spun the old warrior around. "Get Sobrey, get your soldiers – those _children_ – and get the hell out of here!"

"Ye can't do this alone, Brin. Don't be mad!"

"She won't face it alone." Valen saw Brin's frantic face turn to him at the sound of his voice.

He saw her take a breath, as if to object, but she was interrupted by Nathyrra's bitter laugh. "No, she won't be alone, will she? She knows how to recruit the best."

Brin's face tightened, and all traces of fear disappeared. "She's right, Durnan. Besides, I have paid mightily for the devil's true name. If you stay, you die," she shoved the big man away. "Go. Now."

Done arguing, Durnan ran to Sobrey and the two defenders made short work of emptying the streets.

The ground began to shake in earnest.


	24. Chapter 24

Brin stared at the stars, bright over their heads. Her elven blood sang to be under the sky again. Even after so long, she could feel the approaching dawn like an old friend.

The earth trembled beneath her and she wondered if she would live long enough to see the sun one more time. She closed her eyes and leaned into the slight breeze that, for the briefest of moments, broke through the reek of death, carrying a cool promise of earth and forest.

"Come, let's find some high ground. We should grab what little advantage we can." Always the soldier, Brin thought, and allowed herself the pleasure of Valen's voice washing over her. When she opened her eyes again, she refused to permit them any tears.

They found a spot on one of the only buildings still standing – a temple devoted to Kossuth. Brin wondered what kind of omen came from looking for sanctuary from the Firelord, and which of his elements would rule today – suffering or renewal?

The ground rolled again and then erupted into a sea of fire. Wood flared, iron melted and the bodies of the undead army disappeared in black coils of foul smoke as lava bubbled between the buildings of Waterdeep.

The cool breeze playfully tossed Brin's hair once more, then vanished into the fetid stink.

Mephistopheles had arrived.

Brin allowed herself one quick glance at her companions. Nathyrra stood, proud and lethal, her eyes unflinching and unafraid. Death was nothing new to her, now. And Valen – Brin gritted her teeth against the pain – his crimson hair glowing in the firelight, was strong and sure and steady.

Then she turned to face the devil and the world ground to a halt around them. He was larger, she realized, stronger. She could feel her robes clinging to the sweat that was dripping down her back.

"Aahhh, m'lady. I am sorry I didn't send you an invitation to this little party, but I had word that you were … indisposed."

The now-familiar rumble of his voice jarred her skull, but she stood, unblinking, and let his mockery flow past her. "I am not here for games. This ends here."

Mephistopheles shook his head in counterfeit sorrow and, with a casual wave of his taloned fingers, Brin found herself immobilized. "Your manners leave something to be desired, m'lady, after I've been your host for so long. And what kind of example do you set for my other party guests?" His razor-sharp teeth glistened as he smiled at Valen and Nathyrra. "Now, you two don't need to be on the losing end of this. My dear assassin, this can't be where you want to be."

Nathyrra's laugh was a knife's edge in the dark. "You can't enslave a slave, Mephistopheles." Her eyes sought Brin's blood in the moonlight. "Someone else already holds that chain."

The devil threw his head back and laughed outright. "Oh, little speck. Well done! You sacrifice yourself for her life and she dies. You make her live and she wants you dead. I couldn't have done better myself. You, m'lady, have a talent for misery."

Her teeth ground around an ineffectual snarl. Terror suddenly left her boneless, as she realised she could not speak. _The name! Oh Gods!_

The devil was still chuckling as his gaze turned to Valen. "You sad, undersized tanar'ri. Are you still following this witch around like a lost pup? It is beneath your blood, you know."

Valen barely acknowledged the jibe, his eyes focused on Brin, questioning. She willed him to understand, to read her intentions, to read her panic, in one word. _RUN!_ She could still cast without her voice. But she could not use the name. They would die. _Valen, please! Run!_

Valen's eyes closed. She read comprehension in the set of his jaw.

"We have nothing to say to each other, Baatezu. There is nothing but death between us."

The calm, proud ring of his voice brought tears to her eyes. She knew he would not run.

"Is that what you think, tiefling? But you are mostly human. What if I were to tell you I could relieve you of that demonic taint forever? I could free you from the Blood Wars, young man. What would that be worth, I wonder?"

"It would not be worth betraying my love, devil. The only taint here is yours!"

A sob that could not escape her lips caught in Brin's throat.

"Your love? Little tanar'ri, did she not tell you? She is not your love." Her blood stilled in her heart, as she watched Valen's eyes widen. "I would instruct you to ask her about the blood on her hands, but sadly we're not going to have time for that."

Mephistopheles' laugh once again rattled through her bones, but she took a deep breath, willed herself calm, and reached for the words of a spell.

"Little speck! Such fine friends you have. One wants you dead and the other wants your life. You chose _this_ over being a Lady of the Eighth? You chose _this_ over the love of an angel?"

She wasn't listening. She was calling the threads of magic to her mind, weaving them through silent lips and wrapping them around the spell that held her still.

Mephistopheles sighed deeply. "I should have known you'd be no fun, speck. Was it not enough to sacrifice yourself for these two once? Must you do it again? Haven't you realized yet how useless you are as a bargaining chip? If you join me, you could have them, you know, without the chains of duty. Don't you think they owe you …?"

The smooth flow of the devil's words halted as he felt the first strands of his spell snap. With a bellow that knocked stones from the temple's foundations, his hand came down on her – only to be blocked by a hastily erected shield. The blow knocked her from the temple roof and, as the ground rushed to meet her, she heard Valen's battle cry.

"Into the flames we leap!"

"VALEN! Run! Damn you, run!"

Her voice! The cobbled street jarred her body, even through the protective spell. She heard, rather than felt, the snap of bone in her shoulder and side. Still, she heard the tiefling's chilling laughter and knew he was deep in the Blood War rage. Her mind, fogged with pain, made out the bright, melodic sound of Nathyrra's spellcasting. They would both die.

No.

She fought her lungs for air, could feel the broken ends of her ribs.

NO!

"_Thra'axfyl the Ambitious!_"

It was barely a whisper from her lips. She sucked in another breath, ignoring the sharp agony, and tried again. This time, her voice pealed out over the broken stones of the city and into the heavens. "Thra'axfyl the Ambitious, stay your hand!"

The massive devil staggered in the streets of Waterdeep. "My…my true name! Where did you get that, speck…m'lady?"

Rage and pain bubbled up through Brin's veins as she struggled to her feet. "Kneel! _On your knees before me_, Thra'axfyl the Ambitious!"

Dust and debris flew up from the ground as Mephistopheles fell before her. "What would you have me do, mistress? Will you command my death?"

Brin's laugh was as cold as the devil's had been fiery. "You seek to deceive me again, slave? I am not that _utinu en lokirim_ 'Valsharess.' I know my limitations. She could not command you to kill me. I certainly cannot command you to kill yourself." Brin shook her head in admonishment. "No, I am not so stupid."

She braced herself on one of the temple's fallen cornerstones. "Thra'axfyl the Ambitious, you will return to Cania for the rest of your days!"

"Yes, mistress. Thank you for your mercy."

"Thra'axfyl the Ambitious…" Mephistopheles paused in his retreat. "You know better than to expect mercy from _me_! You will return to your frozen hell, and you will suffer, for I command it, Thra'axfyl the Ambitious. In the ways only your heart knows, you will _suffer_."

"Now go, and never seek return, Thra'axfyl the Ambitious. Go!"

And he was gone.

Brin's hiccupping breath, each inhalation caught on jagged bone, was the only sound as silence stretched through the streets of Waterdeep. One hand reached up to cover her mouth, to stop the sound. She wanted to fall. She wanted to sleep. But a voice was calling her, high and clear.

"Brin! Brin, you have to come! He's hurt!"

And the world lurched back into time. Throwing pain from her like an old cloak, a quick gesture brought her back to the temple's roof. The diminutive assassin stood over Valen's inert form, blades drawn as if she would fight off death itself.

Gathering her robes around her, Brin ran and fell to her knees at his side. Blood ran from talon scores across his arms and chest, but it was the rapidly growing bruise on his face and temple that had Brin's heart in her throat. She tore her packs apart, looking for her potions and herbs. Not even looking at Nathyrra, she cried, "Go, now! Fetch a cleric. Durnan will help you."

She sensed the drow's hesitation and turned, her heart in her eyes. "Please Nathyrra –mori'quessir – a cleric. He needs more than I have."

The assassin made no sound as she disappeared.

Brin coaxed a few drops of an elixir into Valen's mouth, and cleaned the wounds she could find. Then, wrapping her cloak around both of them, she lay down on the stone beside him. Focused on each breath that passed his lips, she never saw the sunrise.


	25. Chapter 25

His skin was washed in a bright, warm light and a serene song wrapped around him like a silver ribbon.

_Ar chonnlaigh ghlais an Fhoghmhair  
A stóirín gur dhearc mé uaim  
Ba deas do chos i mbróig  
'Sba ró-dheas do leagan siubhail.  
Do ghruaidh ar dhath na rósaí  
_

He didn't open his eyes, letting himself float in the promise of the sweet voice. The world was soft beneath him and pure above him, the scent of green and yellow floating to him. For a moment he wondered if he was dead.

_  
Monuar gan sinn 'ár bpósadh  
Nó'r bórd luinge 'triall 'un siubhail …_

But the voice broke and halted … and suddenly he recognized it. Carefully, adjusting to the golden light of the sun, he opened his eyes. She was sitting on a stool, facing the window. The sunlight dancing over her hair lightened the blood-red tones to a fiery ruby shine. To his eyes, she looked frail and bent, leaning on the sill, her face buried in her hands. She took a deep, shuddering breath and lifted her face to the sun, singing again.

_Tá buachaillí na h-áite seo  
A' gartha 'gus ag éirghe teann …_

"I didn't teach you that one, my love." His voice, barely a whisper, was harsh as if from overuse – or long silence. "Have you been holding out on me?"

She whirled from the window, her eyes huge in her pale face.

"Valen?"

Her voice cracked and he could see her hands tremble as she twisted them. She stood as if paralyzed, seemingly unable to take her eyes from him.

He tried for a smile, but it felt raw. "You look beautiful in the sunlight. I never knew what a difference it could make."

With a small cry, she crossed the room and threw herself to her knees beside his bed. She buried her face in the feather mattress and reached blindly for him. He didn't seem to have the strength to rise from his pillow, so he took one small hand in his own and raised it to his lips. Her eyes rose to meet his and he was shocked at the red-rimmed storm clouds in the gaunt angles of her face.

His hand was unsteady as it lifted to touch the silk fall of her hair.

"It's all right, my love. I'm here."

She bent her head to his chest, then, and wept as he stroked her head.

The afternoon sun had slanted down in the window by the time Brin was able to catch her breath. Valen felt a lifetime pass in that shifting light as he soothed her as best he could. When she calmed and steadied herself, her shadowed eyes searched his face silently. She brushed his fiery hair from his face and allowed her shaking fingers to linger over his cheek.

"I must tell Nathyrra that you're awake. She'll skin me if I don't."

The assassin would want to skin her, he realised. He also remembered that there was no way she could.

"Brin, wait!"

She halted halfway to the door, her shoulders back and spine tense.

"Where was that song from?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "One of the planes. I don't remember which. I'm not sure I even remember the language." She bit her lip, then turned back to the door. "I'll be back later."

Nathyrra kept her cloak up, over her eyes, even in the fading evening light. Her white teeth flashed in a crooked grin as she approached his bed.

"You certainly gave us a scare this time, soldier. Good to see you're ready to stop lazing around."

"I never laze, drow," he growled. "It's a strategic downtime."

It was good to hear her chuckle in response, but she sobered quickly. "You were gone for many days, tiefling. The clerics didn't know if you would return. There were old injuries that you were hiding, yes?"

His eyes met hers, but he didn't reply.

"Ah well. It's her you'll have to answer to for that. Not me."

He tilted his head, listening for something in the assassin's voice. Understanding his unasked question, she sighed and sat heavily on a wooden stool beside his bed.

"I don't know, Valen. I don't know. It's clear she betrayed us to that _elg'caress _Valsharess …"

"I heard Meph…I heard him say she had _sacrificed_ herself, Nathyrra. Do you know that she sometimes calls your name in her sleep? Mine, as well."

She waved a negating hand. "The Baatezu also said she was no love to you. Do you remember that? You can take nothing that beast said as truth."

"Except … you can know that everything was meant to drive us apart or to drive her down," Valen countered. "There is only one consistency in that one – to hurt."

"I know. By Eilistraee, I know. But I will not forget, Valen. I do not think I can forgive."

She paused, forcing her eyes out the window, to the last rays of the setting sun. "She released me, you know. She removed my own guilt from me and released her hold on my name. I cannot decide which is her true face, she transforms so rapidly. Is she the sorceress who walked beside us in the Underdark? Is she the traitor who stood by the Valsharess, the slaver who bound me?"

She turned to look at his battered form, her eyes crimson in the darkening room. "She has not left your side in all the days we've been here, you know. I thought, perhaps, she would follow you back into the Abyss. There is some truth in that."

He reached for her dark hand. "Nathyrra, please. If any know what vile things one can do in the name of survival, you and I do. We, both of us, have followed paths so black they would disgust a drider. Can we not offer a little of the understanding that we were given?"

She closed her eyes against the entreaty in his sapphire gaze, but nodded slowly. "I will try, tiefling. But I will keep a blade in my hand."

His smile warmed the dark room, even as his eyes drifted shut. "Thank you, my friend."

He was asleep before the cleric she called reached his bed side.

The song is Clannad's _Coinleach Ghlas An Fhomhai. _The portion I used is translated to:

_On the green stubble-fields of Autumn  
I saw you, my sweetheart.  
Nice were your feet in shoes  
And wonderful your nimble gait.  
Your hair the color of roses_

Alas that we're not married  
Or on board ship sailing away

The boys around here are  
Laughing and getting bold …


	26. Chapter 26

The cleric had left a single candle flickering in the corner, leaving the rest of the room in a thick, comfortable darkness. The tiny glimmer of light gave her elven eyes more than enough illumination to see the hard lines and planes of his body.

He lay, face down, on the luxurious bed, breathing steadily in a deep, fearless sleep. Her lips moved in a slow smile – the sheet had slipped down low over his hips and his tail was free to snake down over one thigh in a lazy S-curve.

Her slippered feet made no sound as she crossed the chill floor. She stood on the shimmering edge of the candle's dim glow, beside his bed. Her gaze caressed the broad muscles of his shoulders and the soft spill of red hair that pooled across the feather pillow. Without touching his skin, her hand traced the curve of his spine. As if feeling the heat from her fingertips hovering over his body, his tail began a languorous motion, sliding over the silken sheet.

She resisted – with some effort – the urge to press her lips to the ridges and lines of scarring that criss-crossed his back. The thought of the pain that each of those marks represented both chilled and broke her heart.

One of his powerful hands was tucked under his cheek like a child's. The other rested beside him on the bed – as if holding a place for someone… Her heart thudded painfully as she watched him sleep. Her breath caught in her throat with a sob.

Gods help her, she didn't know if she had the strength to do this.

Giving into selfish temptation, she muttered some sibilant words and, with a gentle pass of her hands, time slowed to a standstill. The candle's flame stilled and the air itself seemed to thicken.

The soft bed didn't bend under her weight as she crawled up beside him. His breath stopped between his lips and his heart paused between beats. She lay beside him, staring into his sleeping face. She kissed his closed eyes, his slanted cheek, the tips of his ears. She combed her fingers through his hair and over his curving horns. She grabbed his free hand and pressed kisses into his palm, tasting leather and steel even after the days of his confinement. Finally – so gently, so softly – she kissed his parted lips.

How long she sat there, in the still place between time, she never knew. The span of a lifetime held no meaning in those moments – and even less meaning to one with elven blood.

Her mind spun with all the reasons she was doing this thing. It was not because she needed to skirt the explanations she'd promised him. She'd taken care of that.

In the end, it was not even because of the planetar's death – although that hung from her neck like a millstone. Still, she did not mourn the lost opportunity of a love with the celestial being; she only mourned her actions and the loss of such a beautiful creature. It stained her soul. She couldn't bear the thought of the chill that would settle in the tiefling's face once he knew. Valen was a good man, as good as the angel, perhaps. He might even understand why she had done what she had done. He would never look at her the same way again, though.

What terrified Brin to the very core of her soul, however, was her own lack of control. Just as she sat in the dark beside him, so tempted to keep him here forever, she knew the temptation of holding his true name would pull and tug at her like seduction. When his eyes darkened with the disappointment and censure that surely must come, how could she stop from willing it all away? Should he find the true love meant for his soul, how could she refrain from commanding him to be hers?

The words of the Knower of Places – that beautiful, pathetic creature, so diminished by her love for the planetar she could never have – tumbled through Brin's mind like a prophesy … or a prayer.

"_If you love someone, set them free, for otherwise your heart shall be clutched between their teeth forevermore. Let their freedom become your own."_

She memorized the curve of his mouth, the straight line of his nose and the dark shadows of his eyelashes. Only the knowledge that she'd never again see the sky-bright blue of his eyes kept her from giving in to her own desperate desire to hold on to this moment.

With a sigh, and one last press of her lips on his, she slid down from the bed. The slow dance of the candle's flame sped up and she watched as he opened his eyes.


	27. Chapter 27

A single drop of moisture drew Valen from his sleep. The cleric's visit had left him stronger, but exhausted, and he had no idea how long he had slept. His hand touched his cheek where, somehow, it felt as if a tear had fallen. Half-hidden by the room's shadow – but not from his eyes – she stood, watching him.

"Yes, my love?" Valen blinked at her somber form. She did not move, but watched him still, her arms held tight around her body.

Her eyes, though, her eyes shone with an intensity he'd never seen in her. He began to rise, but quickly remembered his current state of undress.

"Valen." And his heart lurched at the sound of his name on her lips.

Her eyes filled with tears and he decided that modesty could join Mephistopheles in the Hells. Rising, still shaking with weakness, he crossed the floor to her in a single stride.

Her eyes seemed locked on his body, but when he wrapped his arms around her tiny form, she tilted her head up to look into his face. Her fingers traced a gentle arc over his eye.

"Oh, my Valen," she whispered again, and the world ceased to be. His huge body began to shake as her hands reached up and cupped both sides of his face. Whether drawn by his vulnerability – or by hers – the demon scrabbled up in his soul to leer from behind his eyes.

"Brin. Brin … please," he gasped. "Brin, you need to leave. I can't control this … I …"

So quietly that, even pressed to her body as he was, he almost didn't hear, she sighed, "Oeskathine … Oeskathine the Demonwrestler …"

His eyes snapped open as his muscles stretched and locked in obeisance to the power of his true name. He dropped like a stone to his knees in front of her, his naked body shining with sweat.

"Oeskathine the Demonwrestler, I release you of your demon taint."

Time shattered around Valen. His mouth opened, but no sound came out – not even the rage-filled demon's howl that reverberated around his skull. His skin began to glow and small, luminescent flames flickered from his eyes. A great shadow of heat and fury filtered through his pores and up into the air, leaving a chasm in his soul. He gasped and lurched, his back arched and his head fell back in a silent scream.

She stood through it all with her hands on his shoulders, fingers linked behind his neck. When his body relaxed, slick and pale, he sagged forward into her embrace. She wrapped her arms around him, caressing his hair, holding him to her body as he sobbed.

They remained locked together as time ticked away with each breath, a strange shadowy painting in the gloom of dawn.

Gradually, the looming abyss in his being began to close – to fill. He took a deep, shuddering breath and looked up at her bleak face and smiled. A joyous light burned so brightly inside him, he felt it must be visible.

Her fingers continued to stroke his hair as she leaned down and placed her lips on his ear. And then… then…

"Oeskathine the Demonwrestler," she breathed, "I release you of your love for me."

He knelt on the cold, stone floor – sweating and shivering – and she was gone without a sound.

_My life,_

_Never has a parting ripped my soul the way each footstep away from you tears at me. In truth, it feels like cowardice but how can anything that cuts so deeply be the easy way out?_

_I know I promised you explanations, but so craven am I that I can not even put the words to parchment. But I would not go back on my word to you, my love. I could not. I have left my confessions with Nathyrra. I have no doubts that she will be pleased to enlighten you._

_I ask that you remember me, my dear, with clear eyes. Think of me, not as_ _Kagita'ar the Heartseeker for I deny that name, but as Brin – your comrade-in-arms. Your friend._

_Know that I carry with me a memory of you that I will keep to the end of my days. I will love none but you, in this life or any other._

_I wish you well on your path. I pray true love finds you and that you, as a pure soul, can embrace all that it offers. _

_With light, my love,_

_Brin_


End file.
